


(In)decent Proposal.

by witchbreed



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alive Claudia Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Alive Hale Family, Alternative Universe - College, Alternative Universe - Movie Star, M/M, half-movie star half-college student AU, kinda reaaaally ooc, other characters are mentioned through the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 96,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchbreed/pseuds/witchbreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is a broke (straight) college guy with a mountain of debt, a low-income job and a three-month late rent - and, worse, no idea how he's gonna fix all that. When all hope seems lost, an old figure from his past comes back in town, with a rather indecent proposal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. strawberry-blonde is the warmest color.

_**Chapter One.** _

 

His fist slammed against the door three times. Behind the couch, the muffled noises told me Scott was fighting a fit of giggles.

“Come on, you guys, I know you are in there”, Mr. Finstock shouted, knocking on the door three more times. His hand was so heavy it almost broke the thing off its handles – which wouldn’t have been that good for us, particularly. “I saw you running upstairs twenty seconds ago!”

I wouldn’t call it twenty seconds – we did spring four flights of stairs the moment we spotted his bald head coming out of the storage closet, but it took almost an entire minute to get from the entrance hall to our apartment.

Not that it was relevant to the conversation, anyway.

“You know I’ll just keep coming back, right?” he said, slightly calmer but still terrifyingly loud. “It’s been three months, you two can’t avoid me forever.”

“We can try”, I hear Scott whisper. Me, crunched behind the armchair? I just try to remain as quiet as I can, hoping that Mr. Finstock won’t remember he has a master-key that can unlock that door in no time.

You are probably wondering what exactly is going on here, why we are hiding behind the furniture despite our door being securely locked, and all that, right? Worry not, I’ll make everything clear.

First things first, I’m the realest. Well, technically, I’m Stiles Stilinski; but I’m also the realest – nice to meet you anyway. Currently, I’m a college student at Beacon Hills University, which is as good college as any, if you feel like wasting four-to-six years of your life in another classroom. I haven’t decided what my major will be just yet, but given my general apathy towards the human condition, laziness and disinterest, it will probably be something to do with humanities, like human resources or teaching.

Particularly, I only came to college because my parents insisted. They wanted me to have a ‘formal education’, so I could be ‘someone in life’, or something in the lines of that. The more I look back, the more I wish I hadn’t followed their advice; not only is college not what you seen in those teen movies, but also, the only thing I got so far was a pile of debt and fees that is slowly crushing me to death.

One that I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to pay.

It’s not that I don’t have a job or anything, but working on a fast-food joint doesn’t really give out a lot of money (or _any_ money, for that matter). With the economy the way it is, it’s pretty impossible to get a better job anywhere else ( _thanks, baby boomers_ ). It would be nice to have an internship or something, but those are for people with high GPAs, and I’m not one of them. Even if I was, most interns get paid in ‘good recommendations’ or ‘references for your résumé’, and while both seem nice, it doesn’t put food on the table… and food is kind of what we need at the moment.

To make things worse (and that is actually something you can achieve), there is Mr. Finstock. Our landlord. He is usually a really nice guy, except when he starts hammering down your door, reminding you that you own him three months of rent.

I keep telling him that we are going to pay him soon enough – I just have no idea _how_ or _when_. Robbing a bank was taken out of question almost immediately; I considered _Gone Girl_ ’ing myself, but that would be messy and I don’t have anyone to blame for my possible murder; and getting another job wouldn’t work, either.

Honestly, part of me keeps expecting someone to drop a bag full of money on our doorstep. Either that, or…

“You could talk to your dad”, I suggested Scott, once we were sure the footsteps had gone away. He jumped back into the sofa, spreading himself around like a starfish.

“Why would I do that?”

“‘Cause your family is loaded and we could really use a fat check right about now?”

“Listen, my family ain’t loaded – my dad is. And my dad is also a douchebag. We don’t ask him for anything”, Scott said, putting his hands behind his head.

I kinda knew that already. I know Scott since we were kids and we both got shoved off the playground by the bigger kids. We’ve been together through elementary school and high school and now in college. I never asked him for anything – especially not money – because I knew his family life was troubled, but we were kinda in a pickle there. Last thing I wanted was to end up on the street.

Or worse.

_Going back to the dorms._

“Can’t you just…think of something?” he asked.

“Why can’t _you_ think of something?”

“‘Cos _you’re_ the Smart One, I’m just the Pretty One.”

“Hah, hilarious. You should be the Funny One.”

“I’m that, also.”

“You can’t be two at the same time!”

“Course I can. I’m the Funny One and the Pretty One. You’re the Smart One and the _Mysterious_ One”, he joked, making jazz hands at me.

“You _can’t_ be two. It’s either one or the other.”

“But then we’d need two more people.”

“If we had two more people, maybe we could pay the damn rent!”

I tried to hit him with a pillow, but Scott caught it mid-air, spun it on his finger and smacked me in the face with it. “I wish I was the Rich one right about now.”

“Don’t we all, bud. Don’t we all”, he groaned. “Speaking of things we never thought could happen in a million years–”

“Hey!”

“– you’ll never guess who’s in town.”

“Who?” I asked, already regretting it.

“Lydia!”

“Lydia…Martin?”

“Of course Lydia Martin, how many other Lydias do you know?”

“Well, there is Lydia from the bookstore, and Lidia with an ‘i’ from my linguistics class…”

“Yes it was Lydia Martin, you dickdweeb!”

He threw another pillow in my face, but I managed to catch it before it hit the designed target – my nose, that is. “I thought she had moved to LA to work with the celebrities.”

“More like serve coffee to them, yeah”, Scott scoffed. “She told me she’s back in town for a coupl’a months. One of the actor guys she’s working for is shooting a movie downtown. You should go talk to her, see if she can get you to be an extra or some shit.”

“Why don’t you go?” I asked, leaning back on the armchair. “Aren’t you supposed to be the Pretty One?”

“Yeah, but I’m also the one with stage fright, so…” how awfully convenient. “But, ya know, even if you don’t get a job, you two could always, uh, _catch up_.”

Scott stuck his tongue between two fingers, in the least subtle way possible. For the sake of our friendship, I chose to overlook that. I was actually more worried about being pissed at Lydia.

I mean, how could she have talked to Scott before talking to _me_? As far as I could remember, we had departed in good terms. Or at least, as good terms as you could get. As her ex-boyfriend, shouldn’t I be the first one she would call?

Okay, probably not _the first person_ , but like… _eventually_ , right?

Lydia, FYI, was part of the old gang back in high school. Granted, we didn’t actually _have_ a gang, it was mostly me and Scott, and Lydia definitely didn’t hang out with us, given she was several years older, but you get my point. Last time I had seen her, we were in the airport, and she was getting ready to leave us all behind for a glorious life in San Francisco.

Hitting her up wouldn’t be so bad, I guess. Even if she didn’t get me a job, we could still catch up – in a physical sense, even. _Either way_ , I thought, _what is the worst that could happen?_

Boy, I had _no idea._

 

* * * * *

 

Lydia was really surprised when I called her.

In part because nobody was supposed to have her number (the fact that I called her mother and begged for it notwithstanding), in part because she genuinely did not expect to see me again any time soon. She told me – in her usual, very bothered tone – that when she ran into Scott on her way out of that bagel shop, she made him promise not to tell anyone he’d seen her.

 _Pfft_ , please. Have you _met_ Scott? The guy can’t keep a secret for more than twenty minutes without turning purple.

“It’s not so much that I don’t want to see you”, she said, while simultaneously shouting something at someone in the other side of the line. “It’s just – I’m kinda soaked in stuff right now.”

“Nah, dude, I get it. I just thought it would be nice to see each other again”, I said, trying not to sound too disappointed about it. Lydia was genuinely one of my favorite people in the world – and I’m not just saying that because she was one of the few girls that didn’t laugh when they saw me naked. She was just really cool, y’know?

“No, Stiles, I mean I’m literally soaked. I’m on the set, someone – someone shot me with a hose. Don’t laugh or I’ll shove my foot up your a–” she stopped, mid-sentence, and I could tell she’d just had an epiphany. “You still looking for a job, right?  Scott said you were looking for a side-thing.”

“Yeah, sure! You have something for me?”

 “…Maybe. Where you gonna be this afternoon?”

“On Brett’s Burgers, on the corner of Dooley and Main.”

“I’m gonna meet you there.”

“Are you gonna tell me–”

But by then she was turned off, gone to do her own thing. She was always like that, I guess, that Lydia; her motto in life was that the world didn’t stop for nobody, and she wasn’t gonna stand still and let it leave her behind.

Probably why she is off working in movie sets and getting sprayed with hoses while I’m stuck in an apartment that hasn’t seen a broom in three weeks, my best-friend sleeping on the couch with a two-day old slice of pizza hanging from his hand.

The universe works in mysterious ways, I guess.

The promise of something better in the future gave me enough motivation to go to work that afternoon – and trust me, you need a whole lot of motivation to put on a yellow-and-purple stripped uniform, stand behind a counter and take shit from people for twelve hours straight ( _minus_ coffee breaks).

I wish I had the job Scott has. He works with puppies and kittens and wild raccoons on Doc D’s animal clinic. Puppies are _much_ better clients than humans; I’m sure no puppy would barge in during rush hour demanding to speak with the manager because she is pretty sure the double-cheeseburger she bought here two weeks ago gave her diarrhea now.

Although my guess is that he also hears a lot about poop.

Working is stressful but not working is even more stressful, because when you aren’t working, you have no money to do anything. Without money, you can’t go out, you can’t have a girlfriend (maintaining a social life is expensive!), and worse, you can’t do anything at home, because money pays for internet and Netflix, and while you can do without the latter – and just download torrents like a normal poor person – without the former things get a bit tricky. You don’t even get to watch porn without internet.

God, being a responsible adult was the worst mistake I’ve ever made and I would not recommend it to anyone.

When the doors of the burger joint opened and Lydia strutted in, owning the place like her usual self, it felt like the Pearly Gates had been unlocked to welcome me in.

Her cool girl pose only lasted until she saw me. Then she burst out laughing like a normal person.

“You look… ridiculous. Honestly. Just… ridiculous”, she said, looking me up and down.

“Because of the outfit, right?”

“…yeah. Yeah. Obviously.”

What a terrible liar.

“Hey, Greenberg, can you cover for me?” I asked, throwing the keys to the register over to the other clerk.

Greg shot me another _are you fucking shitting me, Stilinski?_ look from behind his thick-framed glasses, but obliged anyway. That is what good friends are for.

(Actually, I would have to pay him up later, but whatever.)

Lydia led me to the back of the room, where there were as little people as possible. It was early evening and most people were still in classes, so the place was half-empty, but she was being paranoid and I thought it was best not to go against that.

She had changed a whole lot, I had to admit. The strawberry-blonde hair that used to dance around her waist had been cut into an Audrey Hepburn-esque style, and it framed her heart-shaped face really well. The light make-up had served to bring out her hazelnut-brown eyes, matched nicely with the color of her suit. A true businesswoman.

“You, on the other hand, haven’t changed a whole lot”, she said, as if reading my thoughts. “Outgrew the buzz-cut, though, so that’s a start.”

I moved away before she tried to ruffle my hair. What was it, fourth grade? “But you, now – working with the stars, eh?”

“More like _for_ them”, she sighed. “Which is kind of why I’m here, actually.”

“Riight, you have a proposition for me. What is it? You want me to star in your next blockbuster?” I made her my best power-range fighting instance, but it didn’t get me more than half a chuckle.

“It’s, uh, a bit more complicated than that”, she said, biting down her lower lip.

“What is it, then?”

“I… I want you to have sex with my boss.”

It took me a couple of minutes to fully process the information.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I want you to have sex with my boss”, she repeated, with a grimace.

“Like – like a prostitute?”

“I would say it’s more of an escort thing, but–”

“I’d still be a hooker!”

“Keep your voice down, Stiles! Jeesh!”

She covered my mouth with her hand and smiled politely at the couple in the other side of the room, who had looked at us as if we had just escaped the zoo.

“Okay, but, like – who is your boss? Is she hot?”

“It’s…it’s a _he_ , actually. But yeah, he’s pretty hot.”

Oh boy. This just keeps getting better and better.

“Are you kidding me? Is this your idea of a prank? ‘Cos it’s not funny. I gotta get back to work.”

I was ready to stand up and leave, but she grabbed my hand and pulled me back, giving me the best puppy-dog eyes I had seen in a while.

I always hated when she did that, because it always worked.

Defeated, I sat down again. “If Scott put you up to this, I swear on my dad’s grave, I’ll–”

“Your father is not dead, Stiles.”

“Yeah, but he is a cop – we have to keep those things ready.”

She sighed, throwing her head back. “Listen, can I just explain to you the situation, before you decide whether or not you wanna bail?”

There was no way on this Earth I’d go gay-for-pay, but Lydia looked dead-serious, and you know when Lydia looks dead-serious, she means business. “Fine, go on.”

“Okay. What I’m going to tell you is a secret. An actual, real secret. Only, like, five people know about this. I’m only telling you because I trust you and because I know that if you open that big pink mouth of yours, you know I’ll be coming down on your ass with the mighty of every god on this planet.”

You wouldn’t think it sounds threatening coming from the mouth of someone no taller than 160cm, but it did. Trust me. “Who’s this guy, anyway?”

“Can’t tell you that. Not right now. What you need to know is that he is really famous. Like, he is everywhere. Think male Jennifer Lawrence, or merchandising for Frozen. He has three movies coming out next year, and his last one is in the run for an Academy Award.”

Well, darn. The guy sounded important. Why a dude like him would be looking for a fuck in a shithole like Beacon Hills is beyond me. Especially with another man.

Who knows, maybe he had a kink.

 “He’s in the closet, actually”, she explained. “But he has no intention of coming out any time soon.”

“Why not? It’s okay to be gay nowadays, isn’t it? There are laws and stuff.”

“That doesn’t work in Hollywood, baby. Trust me, my guy wouldn’t have gotten to where he is now if he was out. I mean, can you name ten out stars that headed blockbusters in the last ten or so years? Or even five?”

I tried to, but my mind came up blank.

“Exactly what I thought”, she leaned back on the seat, arms folded tightly. “Even the ones that are famous, like Neil Patrick Harris and Matt Bomer and Ellen Page – they only came out after their career was well-settled.  Otherwise… just look at Zachary Quinto’s career, dead on its tracks.”

“I thought it was because he was a sucky actor.”

“That, too, but there are dozens of sucky actors everywhere. And sucky directors. And sucky writers. Adam Sandler and Bryan Singer are there, and they put out a movie every year or so, don’t they? If you have connections, it doesn’t matter whether or not you suck. All they care about is who you’re sucking – and whether or not you’re doing it out of public eye.”

A good point, even if a really sad one. Maybe there was some kind of politics behind this whole thing, but I wasn’t entirely sure if I was interested in knowing any of it. As my mother often says, ignorance is bliss.

“So is that why your client wants to hire a prostitute? ‘Cause he can’t get laid with other celebs?” I asked, leaning over against the table.

“More or less. This guy… he hasn’t had sex in a while – and by that I mean, _over a year_. It makes him super cranky and annoying sometimes, so I thought… I thought, if I could find someone for him, just to keep him entertained–”

“So _you_ cocooned this whole plan?”

She scoffed. “What else did you expect?”

 _Not you pimping me out, that was for damn sure_.

“How would this thing even work out, then?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything. “The job requirements, I mean.”

“You would work for about a month, or the time the movie stays in town. You’d come when he called, but probably every night”, she explained. “Payment is on a week basis, but you can get bonuses if things work out well. You’d have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, making sure you would keep your mouth shut about whatever happened between the two of you.”

“How very _Fifty Shades of Grey_ of him.”

“Funny thing, he was actually in the short list for Christian Grey”, she noted. “But then he got a call from someone and dropped out, no explanation. Same thing happened to Charlie Hunnam.”

“Really? Who was it?”

“He didn’t tell me, but… I think it may have been Robert Pattinson.”

“Geesh.”

“I know, right?” her nose twitched. “But what do you think? Want the job?”

It was my turn to grimace. “Man…Lyd, I’d love to help you out, but – I’m not gay. Guys are just not the thing for me. I just can’t see myself rolling naked in bed with another dude.”

“You’re focusing too much on the gay sex and too little on the opportunity, Stiles.”

“What’s that supposed to–”

She interrupted me by putting her bag over the table. Shuffling around it, Lydia fished out her reddest lipstick, grabbed a napkin and scrubbed a couple of numbers on it. Too short to be a phone number, I figured.

When she handed it over to me, I just stared at it for a moment, blankly. “Is this a code? Am I supposed to know what it means?”

“It’s your salary. Or would be, if you took the job.”

 _Holy fucking shitballs_. “There are five figures in here, Lydia.”

“I know.”

I couldn’t make this much in a year on that place. “This guy is gonna pay me this much to get fucked in the ass for a month?”

“Don’t be silly, Stiles. This is your weekly payment.”

I can tell you, I got really close of having an actual heart-attack. “Jesus, how much do _you_ make on this job?”

Lydia didn’t answer, but her coy smile kinda told me why she was the one wearing Prada while I had a uniform with ketchup stains.

“Just think it over, will ya? You don’t need to answer me right now”, she said, pinching me in the cheek. “I mean, what would you have to lose?”

“My dignity, for starters!”

“Stiles, please. You’re the guy who climbed on a table in the middle of the cafeteria with a ukulele and made me a serenate. You don’t have any dignity.”

“Hey – that was romantic!”

“You were _thirteen_ and I was in _high-school_.”

My point stands.

She got up, ready to leave, but not before pushing the napkin a little bit closer to me. “Just… think about it, then give me a call. It’s not an opportunity that comes around every other day.”

“Before you go…” I called out, grinding my teeth. “Just tell me, is he into weird stuff like spanking, or – or–”

“I dunno. Never had sex with him”, she said, sharply. “If you were to accept the job, I would set up a meeting between the two of you so you could discuss terms and things you are – or _aren’t_ – comfortable with. Don’t worry, though, he’s an awesome guy, and as far as I know, he _definitely_ doesn’t have a red room of pain, so you can chill.”

And on that note, she left, like she didn’t just drop a bomb atop of me. I stayed behind with nothing but a napkin, a proposition and a boss that was staring at me from behind the counter, with the kind of look on his eyes that told me he wasn’t against the idea of eating my liver for dinner.


	2. mr. hale will see you now.

_**Chapter Two.** _

 

I didn’t call Lydia again. Not later that day, and not for the two days to follow.

Before you ask – no, it _wasn’t_ because my cellphone ran out of minutes (although that…also happened). I didn’t call her because even the mere thought of dialing up her number sent my stomach into knots. Not the good, butterfly-y knots, the terrible ones.

I just felt it was…I don’t know. A big step, maybe? More like a _leap_ , I’d say. The idea of becoming a rent-boy – a _hustler_! What would my parents think about it? Scott? And what could it possibly mean for _my future_? I don’t think that’s just something you put past you once it’s done, now, is it?

I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being a prostitute. It’s a career choice like any other. Probably pays more than being a teacher; and definitely more than a minimum-wage worker. And… and it wasn’t like I was gonna be on the corners waiting for guys to pick me up, right? It would be different.

Still, man. Really, _really_ weird.

Not that this career choice was unheard of before. I know guys that pay for college like that. In high-school, I remember, there was Jackson Whittemore – one of Lydia’s exes, speaking of which. He got kicked out of school when the principal found out he was one of the models in this seancody website; although his parents will swear he got a scholarship to London and that’s why he disappeared all of a suddenly. But we all know better.

He insists he is ‘100%, totally straight’, but the guy drives a _Porsche_ , for Christ’s sake.

Me, I just… I don’t know, man. I didn’t call her, but I also didn’t throw away the napkin with the numbers she gave me. I held on to it, in fact; like a little shadow of a doubt that would whisper in my ear whenever a rude costumer that didn’t even allow me to say ‘good night, what can I do for you?’ before shouting out their order appeared, or when we had to eat ramen for the fourth night in a row because our fridge was emptier than our bank account. I would stare at that piece of paper, by then all wrinkled and tearing away, silently asking myself _just how low is low enough?_

Sadly, I would discover the answer to that question by the end of that week. On the late hours of Friday, to be more precise.

Friday is the busiest time of the week for Brett’s Burger. Y’see, we are pretty much the only decent food place near the campus (which says more about the condition of the city than about us, to be perfectly honest), so everybody always kinda… flocks towards us. Stressed college kids trying to bury their end-of-the-semester worries in extra-large cups of soda and seasoned fries, dumb couples that think the most romantic thing they could do in the first hours of the weekend was wait in line for a burger while on a date, parents with noisy kids demanding nuggets so they can get the gifts that come in the boxes – you can find a little bit of everything. Most of the times, we are prepared for anything they may chuck our way, but every once in a while life throws us a fast one.

 On _that_ particular last Friday of November, it came on the form of a spill on our self-service ‘pick your flavor’ soda machine. There was a waterfall coming from our counter, soaking the shoes of the nearby costumes.

“Don’t worry, it’s all fine! We’re gonna fix this quickly!” I assure the people in line, putting on my best smile. In retrospect, that wasn’t such a good idea, as I’ve heard I tend to look like the Joker when I do that.

And it’s usually not a compliment.

Erica went, armed with a mop, to try and clean up the mess. The problem was, the more she wiped, the more water seemed to come out. People were starting to get impatient. They wanted their drinks, and they would not wait another minute. Someone complained the season finale of their favorite show started in half a hour and they couldn’t lose it; another one demanded we called the manager ‘right now, immediately!’; _this is the worst service I’ve ever got!_ , someone shouted from the back; poor Greenberg was so nervous, you couldn’t tell where the tears ended and the sweat started.

And that’s when the good news came. Except _not really_.

“I don’t think there’s soda anymore”, Erica whispered in my ear, her face turning almost purple. I almost dropped the change I had in hand.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I grunted, through gritted teeth.

“The machine broke down. Even the ice melted.”

“You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see her nodding a big fat no.

 _Oh, for the love of God_. “Is there _anything_ in the back?”

“There is… orange juice, I think? And what looks like green tea. I don’t know how long it’s been there, though. No one ever orders them.”

And they would continue not to. The moment the words ‘sorry guys, we’re all out of beverages’ were uttered, all hell broke loose – _on us_. If you have never been on the receiving end of a mob of people both hungry and angry, you should consider yourself lucky.

There was a lot of shouting, a lot of yelling, a lot of fingers being pointed at faces, doors being slammed, refunds being demanded (even from people that didn’t pay yet!) and a general ‘I’ll never eat on this dumpster again!’ feeling. Since I couldn’t remain indifferent, I at least tried to stay calm and level headed, ‘cause if I didn’t I would’ve probably have slapped someone all the way to the other side of the country.

By the time the last one of them was done shouting and complaining, the shop was empty. Erica had gone hide with the cooking staff (either that or she had shoved her head in the boiling oil), while Greg was trying to look like he was not about to burst into tears again.

Poor guy. And he had thought our ‘Black Friday special menu’ had been a disaster.

Speaking of disaster, I found out that somehow I managed to end my shift with even less money in my pocket than I did when I started it.  In fact, all I had with me was a crumpled napkin, where those five digits had already began to fade.

Not that it matter, anyway. I had already memorized them by heart.

It was exactly a napkin (although not the same one) that I used to write my letter of resignation. Actually, I wouldn’t say it was a ‘letter of resignation’ as much as it was a ‘sorry, I quit! Love, Stiles’ message written in yellow crayon and shoved underneath my boss’ door before we closed down.

And… well, after that, all I can say is that Lydia had three _very_ awkward voicemails waiting in her inbox before the first hour of Saturday came around.

 

* * * * *

 

“Don’t worry, everything is going to work out for the best”, Lydia assured me again. And again. And then one more time, just to make sure.

“That’s easy for _you_ to say,” I groaned. “It’s not your ass on the line.”

“It is, too! Maybe not in the _same way_ , but…”

“Your boss guy is really okay with this, isn’t he? _Lydia_?”

“Of course he is! Of course he is! Now, at least.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Hey, we’re here.”

She stopped the car abruptly, almost slamming my face against the dashboard. At our right stood a tall, black-and-white apartment complex. I had thought it was weird she wasn’t taking me to the richer, cleaner part of town (you know, the one far away from all those abandoned buildings), but I’d imagined she was just making rounds to confuse and alienate me, so that in case I didn’t accept the offer, I wouldn’t remember the address. I was definitely not expecting to be standing in front of a condo.

“Not exactly what I had I mind for a high-profiler”, I noted. “Wouldn’t he be better in the Plaza or a fancier place?”

“Hotels aren’t safe if you want privacy”, she said, “Too much attention. Also super easy to break into. Haven’t you seen it happen in the movies?”

“Which ones?”

“All of them. Now come on, let’s meet the boss.”

I felt the pit of my stomach tie itself into a knot. I guess it was too late to start having second thoughts now.

Lydia had wakened me the moment she got my messages – which, unfortunately for me, was around the time she got up, at 5 o’clock in the damn morning. Her phone call was mostly high-pitched screams of excitement (the girl has the throat of a Banshee, I’ll tell you), but I managed to process a few key sentences; like the fact that she was coming to pick me up early in the evening, as soon as shootings for the day were done for.

The timing was convenient, because this way Scott would just think I was going to work like every other day. I’m not ready to tell him of my current endeavours, to be quite honest.

Mostly because I don’t know if he’s gonna freak out, make fun of me… or both.

“It is better this way”, Lydia assured me. “I can still remember what happened last time he was asked to keep a secret.”

Me, too. It was when we broke up.

She cleared access with security, leading us inside the building. My legs were shaking even before we’d reached the elevators; but then again, so was hers.

“Do you… do you think he’s gonna like me?” I asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

“Aside from your fashion sense, what’s there not to like?” she joked, adjusting the collar of my shirt. She had her usual _seriously Stiles? Plaid?_ Look she’d been carrying since before we started dating. “You’ll do fine, Stiles. He and I have the same taste in men.”

“Is that supposed to _comfort_ me or _discourage_ me?”

Before she could answer, the elevator arrived, opening with a loud _ding!_ A couple of soccer moms stepped out, chatting loudly and passing us by as if we were stains on the floor to be avoided.

Lydia waited until they were no longer within earshot to drag me in, pressing the button for the 34th floor.

“Okay, just – just tell me. Who _is_ this guy?” I asked. “Is it… is it Chris Evans? Or – or Sebastian Stan? Or that dude from The Maze Runner?”

She gave me a strange look. “You seriously telling me you haven’t guessed who he is already?”

“What? No! How was I supposed to do that?”

“I gave you a bunch of info on him! Practically spelled out his name!” she facepalmed, groaning loudly. “Alright, lemme give you some more clues. For example… his family is full of actors, he works since he was a kid… hm… he was in the reboot of a franchise from the 80s, a movie adaptation of a young-adult novel and recently he starred in a comic-book film. Is that clear enough?”

I wanted to say it was, but truth be told – while I’m really good at keep up with whatever movie is out on the season (mostly because every Wednesday the price of the tickets is two-thirds off on the local movie theater), I can hardly remember more than a handful of names of those actors. I only remember the names of those I make fun of for looking like aliens or reptoids, like Benedict Cumberbatch and Eddie Redmayne, or if they are girls who had topless scenes.

The only exception for that is Michael Fassbender, because after _Shame_ , you don’t really forget his face or that baseball bat between his legs. I should’ve never have gone watch that movie with a girl on a first date; it’s not the kind of false expectation you want to send to a would-be girlfriend.

In any case, I really had no idea who this dude could be. “Are you _entirely sure_ it’s not Chris Evans?”

“Stiles, I can tell you one thing for sure: if Chris Evans was even _slightly_ interested on men, my client wouldn’t need your services right now.”

That was comforting.

The elevator went _ding!_ again, its doors sliding open – this time to a narrow corridor of plain, closed doors. From the carpet to the wallpaper, everything was really beige and humorless, and the only way to tell one door from the other was by the number engraved on the side. A good place to live if someone wanted to be invisible.

Lydia led the way to apartment 433, at the very end of the hallway. She didn’t open the door, however, or even knock on it; instead, she turned to me, nose twitched. “You should probably strip down to your undies before we go in.”

“…I’m sorry, what now?”

“Just take it all off!” she urged. “He’s probably gonna wanna see the goods before he buys ‘em.”

“A-Are you serious?”

“No! God, Stiles, you’re so gullible.”

“You should try not to say those things with a straight face, then!”

“Oh, _please_. Where would be the fun in that?”

She winked, thoroughly enjoying herself. I had to fight back an incontrollable urge to plunge my head into the nearest wall.

It was a good thing I managed to keep my suicidal instincts under control, because soon thereafter Lydia was knocking on the door (one-three-one-two; they even had a code, how fancy) and I had the strong impression that finding a dead body on his doorstep would be a PR nightmare for him.

Nobody wants to be an inconvenience.

I hid my hands behind my back and swallowed dry when the door finally opened. Half of me expected to have Steve Buscemi come out and greet us, while the other half was betting more towards Dani DeVito. We were welcomed by the proverbial Adonis instead.

The guy was… he was like the definition of ‘tall, dark and handsome’. Scruffy, broad-shouldered, ruggedly handsome, he might as well have been made in a lab – someone had thrown in all the right bits together. He for sure had the sharpest cheekbones I had ever seen. And his eyes…!

They were blue and green and gold, all at once. Like a kaleidoscope.

It was mesmerizing.

“Stiles Stilinski, this is Derek Hale. Derek, this is the guy I told you about”, Lydia said, giving me a little nudge forward. I think she was trying to make me remember how to breathe properly.

That was kinda hard to do when the guy was giving me his best buck-toothed smile. “Nice to finally meet you”, he said, in a husky voice.

“I – I – I could say the same”, I spat out. Honestly, I couldn’t say anything. I could barely string two sentences together. It was like my brain had gone completely _kaput_.

Face to face with him, I totally remembered who this guy was. Hell, I’m pretty sure I watched five movies with him on it in the last couple of years. My last girlfriend had a poster of him on her side of her dorm bedroom – from that one sports movie where he spent an hour and half running around in b-ball shorts with no underwear on.

Oh my God. She probably masturbated thinking about him.

“Are we just going to stand here all day or what?” Lydia asked, raising her eyebrows.

Mr. Hale, who was still staring at me, seemed to snap back into reality. “Oh, yeah. Right. We have business to discuss.”

 _Business_. Geez. So formal. You’d expect that coming out from a guy wearing a suit, not khaki shorts and a blue-and-white polka dot shirt.

I went after him into the lion’s den. Much to my surprise, Lydia didn’t so much as move a foot forward – she had fished out her cellphone from her purse, blood slowly disappearing from her pinky cheeks.

She looked like she had seen the ghost of Christmas past, present and future pop out in front of her at the same time.

“You alright Lyd?” I asked.

Her answer was a half-assed attempt at a smile. “It will be. Eventually. I hope. Right now I have to go defuse a bomb, so you two… work out what you need to work out! Okay?”

“Are you sure everything is fine? Is it something to do with me?” Mr. Hale asked.

“Well, if you’re in a boyband and you’re sending dick pics and soliciting sex from one of your fourteen year old fans on Twitter, then yes. If not, then you have nothing to worry about!” she assured, in high-pitched despair.

“Oh. That sounds…”

“… _Disturbing_ ”, I completed. “But – you’re leaving? Right now?”

“Yes, Stiles. Can I count on you crazy kids behaving while I’m gone?” she asked, with a pointy finger and narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, _mum_ ”, I scoffed.

“Great! And if you decide to do something nasty, please don’t do it on the couch – it’s really hard to remove cum stains on that fabric.”

“LYDIA!”

“What, Derek? I’m just _saying_.”

She rolled eyes, closing the door behind (or rather, in front of) her. Just like that. I didn’t even have the time to ask how I was supposed to go home after the deal was sealed – she was my damn ride!

With Lydia out of the picture, it was just me, Mr. Hale and a very big, very empty apartment. Actually, I wouldn’t call it _big_ , per se; the place didn’t look like it was built to house more than one person at once. Except for the big ass plasma TV on the wall, it was all pretty minimalist, which is just rich people’s way of wasting a lot of money on as few things as possible.

You had the living room/ kitchen separated by a marble counter (there wasn’t even a dining table!), a set of black frosted glass slide-in doors that I assumed were the gateway to the bedroom and a side corridor, hopefully leading only to the toilet and not to a room with a sex swing on it.

Nothing against it, I just don’t think my back can take the pressure in that kind of painful position.

“You got a really nice place”, I said, trying to break the ice. “Very… blue.”

“Lydia picked it out. Not exactly my loft back in LA but…” he shrugged. “Would you like to – do you want to sit down?”

“As long as we don’t get the couch dirty…”

Mr. Hale left out a half-hearted chuckle that didn’t tell me whether or not he was considering it.

“I can imagine this is all really weird for you”, he said, taking the armchair to my left. I sat with my knees pushed together, like a schoolboy about to get scolded. I hope that’s not one of his fantasies. “Not a job offer you get every day.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Would I?”

“Not really. This is the first.”

“Let’s make sure you enjoy it, then.”

If I’d chocked any harder, I’d have swallowed my own tongue.

“Lydia told me you’ve never been with a man before. I can imagine how that would be awkward, but… just try to think of it as any other job”, he continued, ignoring my coughing fit.

“None of my other jobs paid me that well”, I noted.

“Think of it as a step up, then.”

 _A step up would’ve been if I had gone from cashier to manager. This was an escalator_ , I thought, biting the insides of my cheeks. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.

At least, not anymore.

“Lydia, uh, Lydia mentioned something about me having to sign a contract?” I said, avoiding as much as I could to look directly at him. “A confidentiality thing?”

“I wouldn’t call it that, but… yes. It’s a way of protecting you, me and my career.” We all know he had started from least to most important on that list, don’t we? “She was supposed to email you a copy but – I think I have one here somewhere. Hold on.”

He jumped back on his feet, rushing to the door on the other side of the room. I was left back, staring up at my own scrawny, mole-covered reflection on his overcompensating plasma TV, wondering if the face looking back was actually mine or from one of the zombie extras from The Walking Dead; I was mess.

Probably should not have stayed in bed contemplating every bad life decision I had ever made until three o’clock in the afternoon, but… eh. What can you do?

At least the hand-sweating had stopped, if that was any consolation. My heart was still hammering hard against my chest, though, like it was trying to break free. I was not entirely sure it had anything to do with being nervous this time around.

“This is just a rough draft”, Mr. Hale said, returning with a small bundle of papers in his hands. “I want to discuss with you some important points. Change what you think is necessary. I want you to be as comfortable with this deal as possible.”

“Anything to get into my pants, eh, Mr. Hale?” I joked.

He chuckled, but didn’t deny it. “Lydia probably already discussed with you salaries, so we can get that out of the table. Since I cannot straight-up say _why_ you are being hired to anyone else, you’ll be under the guise of one of my assistants. That will grant you access to this building, the set and–”

“Wait! Does that mean I can go watch the shooting of the movie?!”

“Yeah, sure, if you want to. It’s a biopic though – pretty much just Oscar bait – but if you want to…”

That was awesome! Maybe I could even get a cameo somewhere. Like, in the background or something. Some of the greatest stars started as Guy #3, you know? Sure, most _didn’t_ , but I could get struck by fate.

Maybe they could even make a movie about me someday. There’s already _Pretty Woman_ , yeah, but that’s an entirely different thing.

“Your contract will last for a month”, Mr. Hale continued, unaware of my musings. “But you and/or I can call it quits at any moment, for any minute. If that were to happen, you would still get paid that week’s worth, regardless of how much you…err… work you’ve done.”

“So if I were to quit, say, tomorrow, would I still get paid?”

“You’d have to actually _work_ first.”

“Bummer”, I pouted.

He couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. “In regards of your actual services, there are some points that we’d have to discuss. If you turn to page two, there is a list of, uh, of _things_ that could come to happen during our time together. I’m not saying all of them have to happen, of course, that would be – these are just so that you can tell me if you’re comfortable enough with – if you’d like them not to happen.”

Watching Mr. Cool Guy turn red and fumble with words was kinda funny, or at least until the moment I flipped the page and saw the size of the list he’d just handed me.

As a guy who has watched a whole lot of porn in his day – and I mean _a whole lot_ , enough that I’ve left a little note on my desk drawer warning Scott and/or my family that, in case I die of a sudden and violent death, they should burn or bury my computer with me and under no circumstances attempt to turn it on, because some things not even cleaning one’s search history can erase – most of the terms he had there were familiar to me. Most of them I had never even gotten closer of doing. Some I had really wanted to, but my past girlfriends were not into it. One or another made me question just how deep this guy thought his dick could reach, but I was scared to know the answer to that.

A handful I had no idea what meant, but with the advantages of the internet nowadays, it’s nothing an xvideos.com search can’t reveal.

A couple of things I noticed were not there on a first look, but I wanted Mr. Hale to know they were off-limits anyway. “Can I add – or remove – anything from this list?”

“Obviously. Whatever you want.”

“Okay, uh, first – there’s gonna be no fisting. My fists and feet are going nowhere near your asshole, nor are yours in mine.”

He laughed. “Sounds fair.”

“Second – no golden showers or scat or anything that could result on a Two Girls One Cup situation. I’m not into that shit, pardon the pun.”

By his look of disgust, my guess was that he was on board.

“Third, no mutilation, bleeding, cutting, punching or anything like that.”

“…what kind of porn have you been watching?” he asked, horrified.

“Not porn, but my friend Scott once made me watch this horror movie where a guy jerks off with a piece of sandpaper. I’m still traumatized.”

Mr. Hale pulled his legs closer together, probably picturing it. It was worse when you saw it. So much worse. I haven’t been able to watch gore for two years now. “Anything else?”

“Ah…yeah. No kissing on the mouth. At all.”

“A-Are you sure?”

“Pretty damn sure.”

To say he looked disappointed would be a euphemism. When it first occurred to me, I figured it would be a deal-breaker, but it was also something I didn’t want to back down on. You probably think it’s stupid – I mean, it’s just kissing, right? – but… I always felt a kiss was something intimate; even more so than rubbing your genitals against someone else’s.

 Call me old-fashioned, if you will. That is just how it is.

“That’s… alright, then. That brings us to one more thing, which are condoms.  While I understand that the safest thing to do is always wear them, I – I–”

“You’re asking me if it’s okay if you don’t”, I completed, before he burst a heart valve open. “Assuming you’ll be the one doing the fucking.”

It hadn’t occurred to me he could be the one that was into having a hard tube of meat stretching him open. That would certainly change things.

“Yes. Obviously, we would both be properly tested beforehand and – and any medication can and will be provided, if needed.”

“As long as you don’t get me pregnant, I think we can make it work”, I laughed.

He didn’t. Mr. Hale gave me a weird look instead. I think the joke flew over his head.

“Well, then, I think those were all the points we needed to discuss. You can read the rest of the document and if you find anything you think needs to be changed, you can contact me or Lydia and we’ll fix it. Any questions?”

“Yeah. When do I start working?”

“As soon as the test results come back and the contract is signed. Two days, tops.”

“Aren’t you scared I’ll change my mind in the meantime?”

“ _Will_ you?”

Mr. Hale stared into my eyes just like he had done when that door first opened. We both knew we were in too deep to back out now.

I realise that is a sentence he would probably enjoy in a different context.

My fingers gripped tight to the contract, a ball of _something_ growing in the back of my throat. “I… should get going then.”

“Do you want me to take you home? Or call a cab?” he asked, and he stood up, mimicking me.

“Nah, I’m… I’m gonna take a walk. Lots of stuff to think about.”

I had no idea how I should proceed. Should I shake his hand? Give him a hug? Or…Something else? Mr. Hale seemed as confused with the situation as me, so he just stayed there, hands on his back pockets, looking awkward. And handsome. But mostly awkward.

There were a thousand things bubbling in my head, things I wanted to say but couldn’t quite put into proper words. One of them, though – I just had to get it out in the open.

“Mr. Hale”, I said, as I reached the front door. I turned to him, my hand still around the knob.

“Derek”, he corrected. “You can call me Derek.”

“Derek, then. You must have a lot of faith in people.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just – I’m not saying I would ever do that, ‘cause I’m not that kind of person and also Lydia would cut me in half and bury my body in the woods if I tried, but… if it was anyone else, there would be nothing stopping them from going to the press the moment they left this apartment, you know that, right? Certainly not an unsigned contract.”

He smiled at me again, but this time it never reached his eyes. “Don’t you think I haven’t thought of that?”

“Have you?”

“Yes. It’s the only thing I can think about. When… when Lydia came to me with this idea, I was _angry_ with her. I thought she was trying to pull the rug from under me. I could see a thousand outcomes, and none of them were good for me or my career. I didn’t think – I still don’t think – it can work out for the best.”

“We can try, though. You can trust me.”

“I do hope so.”

He bit down his lower lip, his words sounding more like a plea than anything else. My best guess was that, if that job was a step up for me, for Derek Hale it was a leap of faith.


	3. test drive.

_**Chapter Three.** _

 

Honestly, I was expecting the contract to be something weird or absurd, or for it to have some odd request I was supposed to fulfil all the time, like wearing laced panties or referring to him strictly as ‘Master’. It didn’t have any of that.

Actually, it was pretty straight-forward. Most of it regarded privacy details – the amount of information I could disclose to anyone, the things I was allowed to tell and how I should do so if I was contacted by paparazzi, stuff like that. He had an entire parenthesis about recorded material, and how I should never take pictures or videos or anything that could expose the true nature of my involvement with Derek Hale & co. if it wasn’t for his list of kinks, everything was pretty… vanilla.

I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about that.

There were no rules when it came to dietary intakes or gym practices, which was nice because I didn’t have time to go to the gym. Well, not before. Now I probably do. And money to pay for it. That’s an improvement.

He probably doesn’t care whether or not I taste like pineapple, either.

Most of my night was spent with my head buried in that piece of paper, making sure there was nothing that could potentially screw me over down the line. Except for the contract breach clause (which basically threatened to ruin me if I babbled about anything to anyone or broke any of the previous rules), I was in a pretty good spot. Derek was the one that couldn’t afford to lose anything.

It seems like a terrible thing to profit off someone’s situation, but hey – I never said I wasn’t a terrible person, did I?

Speaking of terrible people, Lydia came to take me to the clinic the next morning. She seemed like she was really high on caffeine, firing up like a machine gun in all directions; I almost had to shove a bagel down her throat to keep her from waking up Scott and Kira, currently napping on the bedroom next to mine after a night tittered with ‘oh my God!’s and ‘harder, harder!’s, mostly coming from Scott.

I have no idea what kind of shenanigans those two get up to, but I certainly do regret renting an apartment with such thin walls.

“Did Derek already get tested?” I asked, as we drove to the clinic. This time on my jeep, so that she couldn’t drop me off in the middle of nowhere and leave me to go search for a bus stop or a cab.

“Right after you”, she assured. “So you two can get down and dirty with each other today already.”

“Yay!” I shouted, trying not to sound as excited as I would be if I was about to have a limb chopped off with a kitchen knife.

 _Exciting_ , I know.

Part of me was still trying to imagine how things would work out once we actually got down and dirty. I mean, I never… I never actually came in contact with another penis before in my life. In fact, I’ve only see a grand total of three hard penises (penii? Penes? I don’t know what the plural of penis is) in the flesh: one was mine, which I’ve been proudly playing with since I was nine; one was my father’s, when I went to pee this one time and accidentally caught him beating it off (when I discovered you could use shampoo as a lube of sorts); and Scott’s, because Scott isn’t ashamed of his body and he and his girlfriends literally do it in any surface flat enough to fit.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had no idea how I was supposed to pleasure a guy out. Is there, like, a special technique on how to get a dick down your throat? And does it, y’know, hurt? How much does it hurt? For how long?

They don’t teach this kind of stuff in high school!

Lydia wasn’t interested in teaching me the ways of butt-sex, just as she wasn’t back when we were dating. Actually, her head seemed to be in the clouds for most of the morning; she barely took her eyes off the phone from the moment we got to the car up until we walked into the doctor’s office (she made sure to stay by my side every step of the way, both because she was aware of my chronical fear of needles, and because she was nosy as hell). Particularly, I thought it was extremely uncomfortable having her leering over my shoulder while the Doctor guy asked all kinds of pertinent questions, like how many sexual partners I had had the last year or how often I wore a condom, all of it in a slightly annoyed tone.

By the looks of it, he was under the assumption Lydia was my girlfriend, that I had cheated on her and now she was forcing me to get tested and make sure I wouldn’t pass on any kind of gross STD to her. Particularly, I thought it was very judgmental of him to think I would be that kind of guy, but… maybe he was just doing it out of experience.

There are a lot of gross dudes in this town, you wouldn’t _believe it_.

“Your results will be ready in a couple of minutes”, the doctor said, looking at her more than me. “You can wait for them outside.”

Lydia left out a muffled groan, but I couldn’t tell if it had anything to do with me or if it was because of whatever she was reading on her iPhone.

“What _are_ you reading, speaking of which?” I asked, as we sat on the benches outside the doctor’s office. “Is it still the dick pic thing?”

“Nah. One of my other clients found out she’s pregnant, but she doesn’t know who the father is”, she said, still typing furiously. “The list is down to two married guys, her ex-boyfriend’s brother and an extra she met on the set of her last TV show.”

“Dude, you got some weird ass clients.”

“ _Tell me about it_. Aside from those other two, I still have to worry about one of my client’s daughter and a DUI incident and Derek’s uncle is leaving rehab sometime soon, so I have to report that back to him. Honestly, I never thought Derek’s thirst would be the least of my problems on a weekend.”

Damn. That was a lot of shit for someone to deal with. No wonder she looked like she was about to go on a murder rampant. “If you have so much to deal with, why are you so invested on this Derek thing?” I asked. “Sure, he’s your boss and all, but it does seem to go beyond your…duties, doesn’t it?”

“Not really”, she shrugged. “Besides – Derek was my very first client. We’ve kind of been together on this ride since the beginning. I mean, not _his_ beginning; he was already on the ‘road to stardom’ or whatever by the time I hopped along.”

She sighed, and for the first time, put her phone down. A small victory, I’d say. “Back then he was having a lot of issues with his managers. Everybody started thinking he was gonna be the next shooting star – you know, get super famous superfast, and then burn out twice as fast? Nobody wanted to deal with that kind of thing, so they threw the rookie at him and hoped for the best.”

“Derek doesn’t _really_ strike me as the trouble-maker type.”

“He isn’t, most of the time. In this business, though? With those child-stars? We never know if they’re gonna go the Elijah Wood way or the Macaulay Calkin way.”

 There was probably a reference there, but it flew right over my head. “Since we are in the subject, can I just ask…. Why is he so stiff?”

“Wait, you’ve already seen his stiffy?”

“Jesus, no! God! I meant, why does he talk like he’s trying out for a part in Downton Abbey!”

“"First of all – for the guy that screamed ‘it burns! It burns us!’ the last time he walked into a church, you sure do talk about Jesus a lot.”

“Hey, I only did that ‘cause Scott dared me to.”

“Nonetheless. Second, that’s just how he is. When you spend so long on this job, you gotta learn to keep your stuff to yourself.”

 “How did you even find out he was… you know…?”

“You can say ‘gay’, Stiles. It’s not a curse word, and Voldemort won’t show up at your doorstep if you say it out loud.”

 _Ugh, fine_. “When did you find out he was gay, then?”

She scratched her nose, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. The first week, second, maybe? But it was easy. I have a great gaydar.”

 Isn’t that what every straight person says, like, _ever_?

The doctor came around with my results a couple of minutes after. I was clean as a whistle, which honestly wasn’t a surprise to anyone, because the last time I was involved in a sexual situation without a condom was during my own conception.

Lydia was definitely pleased with it (and the doctor, by proxy), but to me it only meant that all systems were a-go for us doing the do. If my sphincter got any tighter it would collapse into itself and create a black-hole.

“He’s not gonna wanna do it today, though, right?” I asked, as we left the clinic. “I mean, I didn’t sign the contract yet. You or – or whoever – still have to put my rules on it.”

“True, but… you should go to him anyway”, she said, eyes back on her cellphone.

“Why would I wanna do that?”

“Think of it as a, uh, test drive of sorts.”

“I’m not a car, Lydia. He doesn’t need to ride me to know I’m good enough.”

“That’s true, but it wouldn’t hurt to try anyway.”

“Yes, it would! I’m pretty sure some parts of me would end up hurting a lot!”

She laughed wholeheartedly, for the first time since our first meeting. “Oh yeah. He’s gonna tear your ass in half.”

“Wha- he’s not–” I stopped abruptly, before we could get into the jeep. “He’s not _that_ big, is he?”

“Have you ever put two soda cans on top of each other?”

“ _Oh my GOD!_ ”

And there she was, laughing again, with tears rolling in the corner of her eyes. “I’m just _kidding_ , relax! I’ve never seen him naked. He’s never even done sex scenes. I can only guess how big that thing is.”

Goddamn it. I had started to have _Shame_ flashbacks all over again.

“If you do choose to have sex with him today”, Lydia said, getting into the car. “Just make sure you’re all cleaned up. You know, enemas and stuff.”

“Don’t be gross. I know that”, I groaned. That was a lie, but I wasn’t gonna give her the satisfaction.

“Are you sure? Because if I remember correctly, the first time we had sex you had Dorito crumbs on your pubes.”

“That wasn’t me. That was Scott.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Anyway, just make sure everything is clean – in all senses.”

 _Great_. That was _all_ I needed. My ex-girlfriend giving me grooming tips on how to please my/her boss. And I honestly thought this life of mine couldn’t get any weirder.

 

* * * * *

 

I stood before Derek’s apartment door, more nervous than that time one of my teachers almost caught me cheating on a test. I got this close to actually knocking on the door three or four times, but always backed away the last second. Of all the things I had thought about, I couldn’t think of one to use as an opening line.

The closest thing I got was ‘hey, I’m here so you can ride me like a stallion into battle’, but it honestly didn’t sound too compelling.

“So, are you just gonna stand there for the rest of the evening or what?” asked a voice, coming from the other side of the door. It opened and Derek peeked out, frowning at me.

“How – how did you know–”

“They interphoned me when you arrived at the entrance. What, you thought they’d just _let_ you come up?”

“When you put it like that…”

He stepped aside so I could follow him into the apartment. Derek, I couldn’t help but notice, was wearing nothing but a pair of loose worn-out jeans, which made me feel both under and overdressed at the same time. He was freshly bathed, and the water dripped down his back, tracing his muscles like a map; I want to say I didn’t stare at it like an idiot, but then I’d be lying.

 “So… I’m clean,” he said, turning to me. A good thing, because I was this close to actually touching his tattoo. A triskelion, I think - or something in the lines of that. “If you want to see my results, I can–”

“I trust you”, I assured him, rocking myself back and forth on my ankles.

I think Derek blushed.

“Before we start doing anything, we should – I think we should agree on a couple of safewords.”

“ _Safewords_?”

“Yes. Think of it as – as a traffic light. You have go ahead, slow down, stop…”

“I know what a safeword is. I’m just… wouldn’t ‘stop!’, ‘please!’ and ‘no!’ be enough?”

“You’d be surprised”, he said, mirroring my own words from the day before – the difference is that he _meant them_.

“…alright, then. What do you suggest?”

“Well, for _stop_ , I thought we could use... we could use _daddy_.”

I had to fight every urge I had inside of me not to laugh in his face. “Isn’t that – isn’t that a thing that turn you guys on?”

“I’d rather not picture my family while having sex, thank you very much.”

Fair enough. “What’s the other word, then?”

“Why don’t you choose it?” he suggested.

That was tough. I could really only think of one word – one person – that could serve as a turn off during sex. “How about…Scott?”

“Don’t you have a friend called Scott?”

“Yep.”

“Did you guys have a fall-out?”

“Not really. I just don’t want to think about him while we do it.”

“What _do_ you want to think about, then?” Derek asked, and he took a shy step towards me. And then another. And then one more, for good measure.

There was something in his eyes, the way he looked at me. Something predatory.

Like a wolf.

“I… I don’t know. Do – do you have porn or something?” I stuttered, my back pressed against the door. My hand was around the knot in case I needed to make a run for it, but I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to; my legs had turned to jelly.

He stood in front of me, so close our noses were almost brushing against each other. Derek stared into my eyes, brown against green, before looking down on my mouth. He bit down his lips, tempted. “You think you’ll need porn to get hard?”

I wasn’t entirely sure anymore. His fingers reached around my hips, pulling me closer against him; the contact of our skin sent sparks running up my spine.

“Take off your clothes”, he said, and I almost whimpered when he moved away. “Except for your underwear.”

Derek was not asking, I immediately realized. It was a command, something to be _fulfilled_. The weird part is that I wanted to do it.

It took me about thirty seconds to strip off.

He was still in his jeans, though, and he didn’t pay me any attention; he was focused on turning on the TV, mindlessly scrolling down a list of what I assumed were porn titles. There was a bulge in his pants that made me think that Lydia’s joke about the soda cans wasn’t so much of a joke as it was a warning.

“Focus on the television, maybe it will make it easier for you”, he said, knelling in front of me. On the TV there were two girls blowing a guy at the same time; any straight dude’s fantasy. Sometimes reality is far more thrilling, though.

 _Relax_ , I told myself, as Derek’s face got closer to mine again. His lips brushed against the curve of my neck; his teeth gently scraping my collarbones. He kissed my Adam’s apple, the tip of his tongue making his way down my chest. I try to focus on the girls on the TV but his stubble on my skin is driving me crazy.

There was a gasp when his mouth finds my nipple, and I didn’t know where it came from. He chuckled, knowing – knowing I’m fighting back. Knowing it’s a battle I’ve already lost. His mouth – _God, his mouth_ – worked on one nipple while his hand played with the other, alternating between one another until I started to lose my breath.

I ran my hand through the softness of his hair, giving him a little nudge down, but he didn’t move. Taking his time. Kissing my ribs. Tracing the road to my belly button. In control.

My eyes turned to the television again. The girls were making out while the guy does one of them. It was so hot – but Derek was hotter. Every time he kissed a piece of my happy trail it felt as if he was branding me. Marking me. _Changing_ me.

“I think the porn is working”, he said, smirking. My tight whities could barely contain my boner, and they were begging to be taken off. He didn’t, though – this was not about indulging me. It was about him. It was _all_ about him.

Derek spread my legs wide, kissing and biting the insides of my thighs. My cock was leaking inside my boxers, aching. _It’s just ‘cause I haven’t had sex in a while_ , I tried to tell myself, but it was not that. It was my mind going blank, muffled whines mixed up with the sounds coming from the TV.

I almost came when his mouth closed around my thinly veiled cockhead.

“You want me to take it out?” he asked, his tongue travelling back and forth over the surface of my dick, without actually touching it.

“Please”, I begged, in a stifled moan, and it suddenly became clear while safewords were things that existed.

“You have to do better than that, Stiles”, he whispered, fingers hooked around the waistband of my underwear. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you to suck me off”, I managed to say, but barely. “ _Please_.”

“Good boy.”

He pulled me boxers off, but not with his fingers. He dragged them out with his teeth, slowly, so I could feel the fabric grinding against my skin, inch by inch until he exposed me. It’d been a while since I last let another person look at me naked, and I didn’t remember anyone looking at me the way he did.

I don’t think there’s a word for what I saw reflect on his eyes.

The closest one I can remember is… adoration.

“You’re beautiful”, Derek said, and he meant it. I knew he did.

I arched my hips forward when he wrapped his hand around my dick, his thump drawing circles on the head. I wanted it in his mouth, and so did he, but he wouldn’t give me to me – not without driving me insane first.

He kissed it from the bottom up, tracing every vein and every inch before taking the head between his lips. It was slow and gentle, the way he worked his tongue and his fingers, licking and pumping without an ounce of hurry. All I wanted was to bury myself down his throat.

But that also had to be done in his terms.

His mouth was warm and wet and welcoming, and I lost myself on the feeling, eyes rolling back and left hand gripping the nearest cushion until the tips of my fingers turned blue. The right one was on the back of his head, tugging his nose against my pubes.

He didn’t gag. It was like my dick was made to fit his throat.

“Fuck – shit – this is–”

I couldn’t – I couldn’t think. I couldn’t articulate. Derek’s mouth was moving up and down, tongue swirling around the shaft, faster and faster until my hips were bucking against his face. It felt like my balls were about to explode.

“I – I – I think – I’m gonna cum”, I whimpered, and he pulled away, breathing heavily.

“Not yet”, he said, and he couldn’t tell the frustration in my groan.

Or maybe he _could_ , and it made him enjoy himself even more.

I wanted to protest, but he was already spreading my legs apart again, pulling my knees against my chest. I know what was coming – I wanted to believe I was prepared for it – but the surge of pleasure that washed over me when the tip of his tongue circles my hole for the first time still took me by surprise.

I was boneless. I was pliant. There were sounds coming from me I never thought I’d be able to produce.

Derek was experienced – no, more than that, he was _good_. At teasing, at poking, at _tasting_. He lapped at my hole, pulling my cheeks aside, his stubble sharp against the sensitive skin. My toes curled when he pushed his way inside of me, my cock throbbing and begging for attention; but when I reached for my dick, he moved my hands away. _It was not about me_ , that gesture said. At least not yet.

Soon enough there were two of his fingers were pressed against my mouth. I suck on them by instinct, getting them wet – getting them ready. I whined when he replaced his tongue with the first digit, tightening up by instinct.

“Relax. I’m not gonna fist you”, he joked, leaning in over me. I wanted to laugh, but his finger had just hit my prostate and I was not sure I remembered how to breathe.

My arms were around his neck, nails digging on his back whenever I felt a finger pushing deeper inside of me. His lips were on my neck, leaving a thousand hickeys. My hips pushed back when the second finger went in, stretching me open.

“Oh – oh, God – Derek – Derek, please–”

“If you want me to stop, just say the word”, he whispered in my ear, biting the lobe.

I didn’t. Fuck. _I didn’t._ I wanted more.

I wanted to come.

He closed his fist around my boner, jerking it to the rhythm of his trusts. My entire body was shivering. I couldn’t control my moaning. I was so close – so close – so close.

But then…

His cellphone rang.

“Wait! Wait! Don’t – don’t stop!”

My begging was fruitless. Before I knew it, Derek had moved away from me, scrambling to find his phone, while I stayed back on the couch, my entire life having just flashed before my eyes. _If it’s Lydia I swear to God I’m going to murder her entire family_.

“Sorry – family emergency”, he said, remerging from the bedroom. “My – uh – my uncle has just left rehab and, err, I kinda have to deal with it.”

“You mean _right now_?”

My boner was still right there, standing proudly and leaking like a faucet. A really, really blue-balled faucet.

“Yes. Sorry”, he grimaced; awkward-Derek back in control. “I have to take a bath and leave. I would ask you to join me, but I… I don’t think that’s the kind of experience that need to be rushed. You can…uh… _finish off_ while I’m away, though.”

“Sure, yeah”, I said, turning back to the TV. I didn’t even realize the porn scene was still going strong.

I didn’t actually stay, of course. I was too embarrassed to do that. I was embarrassed at myself, at Derek, at the sounds and reactions my body was producing…most things I didn’t even think I had in me. I couldn’t even look at him properly.

While he was in the shower, I got dressed and ran off, as fast as my – still terribly wobbly – legs would allow it.

 


	4. is that an eggplant in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

_**Chapter Four.** _

 

I felt weird.

But not _good_ weird. Not first-time-hitting-a-bong weird. Just… _weird_ -weird.

Maybe even a bit _unclean_ -weird.

The experience in Derek’s apartment had brought up some strange feelings, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I was supposed to deal with them. I didn’t even know if I _really_ wanted to deal with them. Or if I was ready to.

I tried to repeat the same mantra over and over; that I was just horny, that my body didn’t know best, that it was a natural reaction. A mouth is just a mouth, right?

Except it had been his fingers that really did a number on me.

Never in my wildest dreams had I dreamt that getting probed felt anything like that. I figured there was some merit to it – why else would there be so many gay dudes in the world? – but Derek had certainly elaborated on the subject for me. Now I had no idea how to deal with the given information; or, rather, how to deal with the aftermath of it.

By that I mean I had a real hard time getting off that night.

I tried thinking about girls while jerking off. I tried thinking about girls _on_ girls. I tried thinking about girls on girls _on me_ , but the fantasies were quick to fall apart. Derek had left me an inch close to finishing off, and now there was a growing itch in me I was too afraid to scratch. A _literal_ one.

It wasn’t the first time I came back home with blue balls, but it was certainly the most painful one. I spent the entire night grinding against the mattress, drifting in and out of sleep, until my alarm clock finally went off, warning me I had finally run out of time to get rid of my boner.

 _What a wonderful way to start a day_ , I thought. At least I would have a good use for the cold shower this time around.

Scott was already up by the time I got out of my bedroom – or, well, as up as anyone could get on a cold winter Monday morning of December. He was making coffee in his underwear when I walked in.

And by that I mean, he was making coffee whilst wearing nothing but his underwear. He did not use his briefs as a filter.

“ _Duuude_ , what happened to you?” Scott asked, wiggling his eyebrows at me. “Did you get _lu-cky_ yesterday?”

“What? No.”

“Then did you give those hickeys to yourself?”

He pointed to the red marks all around my chest and neck, where Derek had branded me the day before. Damn it. I knew he was gonna leave a mark.

“My…fan…broke? These… these are…these mosquito bites. Yes. Mosquito bites.”

They had nothing to do with a rich movie star making out with my nipples. Nope. Why would you even _think_ of that?

“So you and Lydia didn’t get down and dirty with each other?”

“Dude, no. Lyd and I are history.”

“Doesn’t history always repeat itself?”

“I don’t have time for laffy taffy philosophy”, I groaned. “I gotta get to class. Harris is gonna do a review of the material. If I miss it, I don’t know what the final will be about. If I don’t know what the final is about, I’ll flunk it. If I flunk it, God knows what’s gonna happen to my GPA, and–”

“I get it, I get it”, he said, shoving an entire slice of toast in his mouth. Damn. And I thought Derek had a big mouth. Wait, why am I thinking about Derek? “You free on Wednesday?”

I blinked a couple of times, shaking the thought off. “What? Uh – of what?”

“Of… work, in general. Isn’t it your day off?”

“I guess so.” If I were still working on the burger joint, that is.

“Wanna go ice skating with me and Kira and her friend?”

“What _friend_? Kira doesn’t have any _friends_. None of us do. That’s our entire thing.”

“We’re not the cast of FRIENDS, dude. We know other people.”

“Do we, though? Do we, really?”

Thinking about it, I did know other people. I wouldn’t call them my friends, but… you know, I had them on Facebook, so that was a start. There was Erica and Greenberg, Danny from the coffee shop, Derek…

Well, technically I didn’t have Derek on Facebook. I’m not entirely sure if I’m allowed to.

Wait, why am I thinking about Derek again?

“Anyway – this friend you speak of. What is she like?”

“She is… nice.”

 _Nice_ usually means _bad_. “What is her deal? Did she kill anyone?”

“What? No! I wouldn’t set you up with someone like that!”

“ _Really_? Don’t you remember the last one? What was her name again? Malia?”

Scott swallowed the rest of the bread dry. “Hey! I didn’t know she was a feral child!”

She wasn’t an actual feral child. I would never date an actual feral child! She was pretty close, though. Not to mention _crazy as hell_.

“I’m just sayin’, you are terrible at setting me up with people”, I shouted, on my way to the bathroom. The good thing was, talking to Scott made my boner go away, at least for the time being.

The bad part is that it didn’t really last any longer than that.

Have you ever tried jerking off under a running shower while your friend babbles about finding you the right girl on the other side of the door and you are concentrating really hard on not thinking about the guy that fingered you for the first time just less than twelve hours before? It’s the closest thing you get from _Mission Impossible 5_ , except it perhaps has a better plot.

In the end I got no relief. Not there. Not in my room while I tried to get dressed – Scott had already left to do… something or another, I wasn’t listening – and definitely not during class, where I could barely pay attention to more than two words my teacher was saying during his lecture.

If we were still in high school, Mr. Harris would have noticed I wasn’t paying any attention on him and probably give me detention or something. Thankfully this is college we are talking about; the teachers simply don’t care one whether or not you learn something relevant by the end of the day. They still get paid (mediocrely!) at the end of the month anyway. The difference between working as a teacher and working in a fast-food place is that teachers have to keep studying their whole life… and when your shift ends in Brett’s Burgers you don’t have to go home to correct homework.

Honestly, I could relate. and I would probably also understand if he didn’t think twice about failing me, since I managed to understand absolutely _nothing_ he taught that morning. The problem was, if I failed that class – and college in general – what was even the point of me whoring myself out for Derek Hale?

 

* * * * *

 

“What’s the deal with you, pumpkin? You look really blue”, Lydia chirped, looking me up and down from her (probably designer) sunglasses, like I was a starving child from a sub-Saharan country begging for the rich white lady to adopt me.

She had agreed to hang out with me at the local coffee shop, mostly because at that point coffee was the only thing that kept her heart beating at a normal pace and because she had virtually no other friends with free time in the city. “Did you and Derek have a chance to ‘talk’ before he was whisked away by his awful drunken bastard of an uncle?” she asked, standing next to me on the line of the counter, while I waited to make my order.

We had to keep our voices down, to avoid any unwanted attention from the many hungry college guys stuffing themselves with muffins and lattes around us. Even I had to keep my groans to myself.

“I’ve had a _raging hard-on_ since I left his place yesterday and I have no idea how to get rid of it”, I said, through my teeth, leaning closer to her.

“Do you want me to help you with it?”

“Would you?”

“Absolutely not.”

I rested my head over her shoulder, defeated. “That was not helpful. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Just go back to his place and fuck his brains out. He’s probably back in town already”, she shrugged.

“Wait, he _left_ town?”

“Yes. He went to take care of things. Didn’t he tell you?”

“Yeah, but I thought–”

I wasn’t entirely sure what I thought. I wasn’t even sure if I had thought about it. He’d gone deal with his uncle and that was all I needed to know before I bolted out of his place. I should’ve at least asked when he was planning on coming back.

In the end I was more worried about what was going on in my pants than in his family.

“So you guys followed my advice…” she said, stepping forward in the line.

“Yes, we did. I did.”

“Did you…enjoy it?”

“I’m – I’m not entirely sure.”

“Do you want to back away from the contract? You haven’t signed it, so you still can.”

I scoffed, blowing my nose on her shirt. “Dude, I’m broke. I lost my job, I’m gonna get evicted in three days, and I’m pretty sure Scott burned the last piece of bread we had this morning. I’m gonna have to suck it up and deal with this the way I can.”

“I bet you’re gonna do _a lot_ of sucking”, she sneered.

“Shut up! I wasn’t the one doing any sucking last night”, I groaned, bumping on her shoulder.

“Give it time, freckle-face. Give it time.”

We stepped forth in line and Danny the Barista Guy was waiting for our order. Lydia’s, anyway, because he knows mine by heart by now; perks of going go the same place every day around the same time.

Jesus, I’m such a boring person.

“One strawberry Frappuccino for Stiles and one iced coffee with milk for Linda,” Danny said, handing over our orders.

“ _Lydia_ ”, she corrected, bitterly.

“You can get your cinnamon buns over there”, he said, ignoring her. Then he smiled at me, with cute dimples and all.

He did that to me every day. Probably to every other person as well I don’t – I don’t think I’d even noticed it before today. It made me blush like a total idiot.

“Thank you”, I mumbled, staring down at my order. Lydia didn’t seem to notice my flustered state.

“You know, if you’re gonna embark on this adventure”, she said, leading the way to the nearest empty table. “I have to warn you of something.”

“What else do I have to worry about _now_?” I asked, taking the seat in front of hers.

She was staring at me with those big brown eyes of hers, jaw hardened so tightly you could cut diamonds in it. “Whatever happens, don’t let yourself have feelings for Derek.”

“What – what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t fall for him. Don’t get infatuated. Don’t think of this as anything but sex.”

 _Was she for real?_ “Lyd, I _know_ that. I’m straight. You know that.”

“I’m aware of that, but also…” she leaned over the table, biting down her lower lip. “I know Derek. He didn’t get to where he is now by sheer dumb luck. He is a good actor. _Very_ good. He can slip in and out of different characters in a heartbeat, and he can charm you with every single one of them. He’ll make you think you feel things that weren’t there before. Don’t fall for that.”

She was so full of confidence in her statement, so serious – there was no way I could doubt her concerns. It would also certainly explain a… _couple of things_. Like my boner, for example, or how Derek shifted between dork and bird of prey.

“Did you – were you in love with him?”

“No, because I figured out he and I were into the same fruit from early on. But I’ve seen his effect on his fans,” she sipped her coffee, lips curled. “Boys and girls of every age, enchanted by his smile, or his pecks, or whatever else they find attractive on him. If he gets to you, it’s all over.”

I almost laughed at her insinuation. Like I was some kind of – some kind of weak-minded person that would get charmed by a dude’s bunny teeth or back muscles or prostate-reaching fingers.

I’m definitely – _definitely_ – not like that.

“I have nothing to worry about”, I said, more to myself than to her. “I’m one-hundred percent confident in my heterosexuality.”

Or at least I thought so.

 

* * * * *

 

I got the weird feeling Derek was getting progressively less dressed each time I visited his apartment. First he had a shirt and pants on; then only the jeans; and the third time around he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that were, if I may add, obscenely tight. Granted, he also looked sleepy as hell, dragging his feet to the door and yawning, so I guess we can overlook that.

He smiled at me when the door opened, like some kind of goddamn ray of sunshine. “Sorry about yesterday. Duty called.”

“No problemo. If my family was in trouble I’d drop everything for them, too.”

“Peter wasn’t in trouble, he was just being a douche”, Derek grunted, closing the door behind me with a _click_. “Made me fly three states over just because he didn’t want to spend the night alone.”

“It… doesn’t sound very douche-y.”

“That’s because you don’t know Peter.”

True – although I did google the guy this time around! From the articles I could find on him, Derek’s uncle was a hot mess; not so much the ‘hot’ part as he was on the ‘mess’. He’d been getting on and off rehabs and clinics and trashy MTV reality programs for the last couple of years, with barely any other work worth of his name. Kinda like a male Lindsay Lohan, when she was still in those bad years.

That is, if Lindsay was absolutely _obsessed_ with V-necks.

Seriously. Every single photo. What is wrong with that guy?

“Lydia dropped by with your contract when I was away”, he continued, nudging the bundle of papers on the coffee table. “Everything looks fine. Well… almost.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“I think…she might have misspelled your name a little.”

I grabbed the contract as soon as I could get my hands on it, mapping around to see if I could find any possible discrepancies. My own rules seemed to be there, all properly put, as did my name, all…I don’t even know how many letters the damn thing has.

“The name’s not wrong, it’s just horrible”, I assured him.

“Really? Did your parents hate you that much?”

I couldn’t even disagree with him. The name was ridiculous. “Now you understand why I go by Stiles.”

“Still, your first day of classes must’ve been hell.”

Derek was clearly having a good laugh at all of that – me, that is – because the universe wanted to prove to me once again that being attractive and being obnoxious are two co-dependent elements.

“Can’t we just signed the contract and do what you want to do?” I groaned.

“Don’t you want to finish what we started yesterday first? In case you change your mind?”

I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t worry about my commitment to my job, but I also didn’t want to delay the inevitable any longer. For several reasons, including the one in my pants.

“…do you wanna do it on the couch again?”

“Just leave your clothes there”, he said, heading to the bedroom. “Except for the underwear.”

 _Good thing I changed to clean ones this time ‘round_ , I thought, relieved. I threw my jeans over the cushions; Derek didn’t even bother to pull his boxers off of the floor.

His bedroom was nice. Big ass TV, framed by two shelves filled with books to the top (most looking like they had never been read before). There was a window on the other side of the room, but the blinds were tightly close; he certainly didn’t want anyone seeing what was about to happen on the king-sized bed. It was certainly not the smooth sheets that made my jaw hit the floor, though: Derek was waiting for me there, leaning back on his elbows, his dick point up like the Washington Monument.

I know this is probably the worst analogy for a penis you’ll ever see, but _Jesus_.

That thing could poke my eyes out.

“You sure they didn’t ask you to do _Magic Mike_?” I asked, swallowing dry.

“I’m surprised you watched that”, he said, gesturing me to come closer.

“I – I didn’t. But I’ve seen gifs.”

I stepped closer to him, my belly button on his eye-level. I had to fight back the urge not to giggle when he kissed my happy trail, his stubble scrapping against my skin. “Getting naked is only fun if you’re doing it for real.”

 _And is this ‘for real’?_ I wanted to ask, but his fingers were hooked on the waistband of my boxers and his mouth was making its way down my crotch, so my brain had already stopped functioning properly.

Derek’s mouth was warm and welcoming and he knew just to work it in ways that made my knees buckle. His tongue flicked over my flared cockhead, dancing around the ridge of the pinky glans as if it were his favorite lollipop; it twirled around the sides of the shaft, lapping on it from base to bulb.

 _Fuck_.

A finger teased between the cracks of my ass, nudging me forward until the tip of my dick met the back of his throat, his nose buried on my pubes.

 _Fuck_. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Before I knew it, we had a rhythm, a back-and-forth I had no control of. My fingers entwined on his hair as his head bobbed up and down, faster and faster at each stroke. I was humping against him, moaning like I didn’t know I could, my entire body vivified.

His other hand pinched one of my nipples, sending waves of electricity through my body. Lighting me up – burning me from the inside. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I moaned his name, writhing when I felt his tongue curling around my cock.

I was so close, _so close_ , to burst.

But then he stopped.

 _Again_.

“Please tell me your cellphone isn’t ringing again”, I begged, sucking in sharp gulps of air.

“No”, he said, with a teasing smile. “But how about you return the favor?”

I did not understand what he meant until Derek leaned back on the bed, his cock pointing upwards like the mast of a ship. “You… you want me to suck you off?”

“If you’re up to it…” he nudged, rolling his foreskin back. “I know I am.”

Jesus, that was a terrible pun – but I got the message. My legs almost gave up as I kneeled between his thighs, my hands shyly reaching out for that thick slab of meat. It was really weird, wrapping my fingers around another guy’s dick; feeling it pulse under my fingertips when I stroked it up and down, engrossed by its warmth. Derek’s cock was bulging and veiny and hard as a rock, though his skin still felt like silk under my touch. The mushroom head was slick and wet with pre-cum.

I don’t know what instinct came over me, but I leaned it and licked it clean.

It… didn’t taste as bad as I thought it would. Not good, but not terrible, either.

Slowly – tentatively – I ran my tongue down his shaft, from base to head and then there and back again; a road that seemed to go on and on forever. Throbbing under my tongue, Derek’s cock seemed to still be growing, and I honestly couldn’t decide whether or not I should be scared of that.

One of his hands ran through my hair, while the other stroked the underside of my jaw. Derek had his eyes closed and his head thrown back, breathing harder whenever my tongue brushed on the curve of his pulsing veins.

I could tell how much he wanted – he was _waiting for_ – me to take that next step.

So I took him into my mouth.

There was moaning, but I couldn’t tell whether it was mine or his; he bulked his hips, trying to get as much in as he could, while I tried not to impale myself on his cock. “Watch for your teeth” was all he managed to say. I curled my lips and gulped, getting used to the new feeling; my mouth was so full I could barely move my tongue. High-school had definitely not prepared me for that.

Though the handful of girlfriends I’d had certainly had taught me a thing or two.

Bobbing up and down, I tried to get as much of his dick in as I could, though my gag reflex kicked in before I could get more than half-way down. The tip of his dick scratched against the back of my throat whenever I went too far, sending shivers against my spine. My own cock was so hard it was starting to get painful.

Derek would thrust his hips to meet the speed of my slurping, pulling my hair back so I could stare into his eyes. The way his mouth gaped and his breathe was unease was almost as if he was begging me not to stop.

At that point, I didn’t think I could.

It was like… it felt like Derek had broken something inside of me. Every time I felt his dick dragged across the roof of my mouth, my mind went blank.

I could feel his balls tighten against his body as I took turns between sucking them and rolling them in my hand. The tip of my tongue nibbled underneath his foreskin, my mouth flooded with the taste of his pre-cum.

His fingers hooked on the nape of my neck, and for a slip second I thought he would shove my entire face against his crotch; instead, he pulled me up, until we were eye-to-eye. While his thumb pressed down against my swollen wet bottom lip, his other hand trickled down my spine, grabbing hold of my ass.

There was no need to even say anything. I was pressing my chest on the mattress, legs spread apart, in a matter of seconds.

I wanted him to do that thing with his tongue again, the one that almost drove me insane, but instead I felt something slick and wet dripping down between my cheeks. Lube, I figured, when it was followed by the first finger; though it could be his spit. I couldn’t know for sure. With my face buried in a fluffy pillow, I didn’t dare to look back.

Was I ashamed of being a literal pillow-bitter? Of moaning and thrusting my hips back to get more of his one, two, _three_ digits inside? I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t matter. All I wanted was some damn release.

I reached back to his hips, getting him closer to me. I wanted – needed – to jerk off, but Derek had pinned my other arm against my back. He said I had to _deserve it_.

And I was finally ready for that.

“You really want my cock, don’t you?” he whispered, leaning over me. I didn’t answer, but my ears gave it away by turning bright red.

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, Derek pulled me back, until I was sitting on his lap, his knob lodged against my sphincter. I tried to ease myself into it, but the first sign of pain made me whimper.

“You have to relax”, he said, biting down the curve of my neck. It was easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one about to have a lung punctured by a sword-sized dick. “Do you want something? To make it, err, easier?”

“Like what?” _Morphine would do wonders_.

Derek reached out for his nightstand, getting a bottle out of it. It was brown and unnamed. Not a good sign. “Are you gonna try and make me take ecstasy?”

“Do you even know what ecstasy looks like?” he scoffed. I preferred not to answer. “Don’t worry, these are just poppers.”

“And poppers are…?”

“God, you really are straight.”

He closed a nostril and uncapped the bottle, pressing it over the open one, before taking a long, good ole sniff. His dick seemed to get even harder against my ass, and I didn’t think that was possible.

“They’ll make you feel good”, he assured. I was hesitant, but I trusted Derek enough to know he wasn’t gonna make me do heroin or something. Imitating him, I took a whiff out of the bottle.

The smell was strong and chemical, and it made me nauseous at first; but the deeper I breathed in, the better it made me feel. My skin was warm and giddy; my head was lighter than it’d ever been. Time slowed down, and all it mattered was the sensation of Derek guiding himself inside of me.

And… I wanted him. Every bit of every inch even if it made me arch my back and moan – like I was in heat. Derek had his left hand firmly grasping my hips, rocking me back and forth on his crotch, deeper in deeper at each trust; I could feel the entire length of his dick slide itself over my prostate, and if that wasn’t enough to make me lose it, his right hand teasing my nipples certainly was.

His name rolled out of my tongue as if it were the only word I could remember to pronounce. He whispered things in my ear I never thought I’d hear coming from someone so proper, and it made my cock twitch in anticipation. Whenever I dared to open my eyes I’d catch glimpses of myself on his TV, but I couldn’t recognize the figure staring back.

We took another hit of the fumes before he pinned down over the mattress, Derek’s body covering mine like we fitted each other perfectly. He’d slap my ass and pull my waist until his balls were nested against mine; or drag his dick out, just to see me pushing back, pushing every ounce of him inside of me.

 _Fuck me_ was enough to convey how much I wanted him.

We lost any rhythm we’d had before. It was just – it was fast and sweaty and _loud_. So loud. My toes curled at every thrust, my cock rubbing against the mattress. My fists had clenched so tight the knuckled had lost color.

Our hips connected, and felt jolts running through my body. I was seeing white by then; I was shivering, gasping, breathless. And it didn’t have anything to do with the poppers anymore.

When he finally – _finally_ – touched me, my orgasm was almost immediate. The waves of pleasure washed over me, almost knocking me unconscious; Derek intertwined his free hand with mine, and he held me close to him. My ass tightened around his dick, and I could feel him spurting inside of me until we were both empty.

That was the closest thing I would ever get from an out-of-body/holy experience.

Derek fell on top of me, then rolled to my opposite side, breathing heavily – still in a post-orgasmic haze. I myself didn’t think I could move a bone in my body. “That was… that was incredible”, he said, panting. “Did – did you like it?”

“I’m lying on a pool of my own cum, man. Isn’t that kind of an answer?” I countered, and it made him laugh.

“If we do it like that every time, I think you’re gonna need a raise”, he said, and he snuggled next to me, his (already) half-hard dick resting in my leg. “Assuming you still want to sign it.”

“As soon as I start feeling my feet again.”

I let myself get wrapped by his arms. It was comforting and welcoming and Derek smelled like sex, which I  had never realized before but I really liked. He had his nose over my hair, and his heart was beating as fast as mine.

“I’ve always wanted to pop a straight boy’s cherry”, he confessed, close to my ear.

“Can’t say I’ve always _wanted_ to have my cherry popped, but… there’s a first time for everything.”

“And how about a _second_ time?”

Derek was hard, again, and his cock was pressing tentatively against my butt. I was kinda sore and there was still some of his cum leaking out of me, but I felt – I felt kinda empty. Like I need something to fill me.

I reached back and stroke his dick, guiding the way. The night had just started anyway.


	5. cowboys and bandits, sans the bandits.

_**Chapter Five.** _

 

I honestly had no idea gay guys had so much stamina in them.

Granted, I should have figured Derek wouldn’t just do it once, roll over and go to sleep – the guy’s been without sex for like, what, a year? Or more, I don’t know. No wonder his balls were so heavy.

Still, though, I didn’t expect him to remain hard four fucks in a row. Every time I figured we were going to catch a break, he was all over me again; whispering things in my ear that made me blush and get all hot and bothered. He would chew on my earlobe or play with my nipples, or even go down on me again, and then soon enough _I_ would be up and running again.

‘Cos, you know, I also haven’t gotten laid in a while. There were a lot of things I was keeping pent-up. White, slimy things that got shot out of me after several repeated jabs against my prostate.

Why God decided to put Man’s G-Spot literally up their asshole is anyone’s best guess.

In any case, by the time Derek had run out of fuel, I was exhausted. My dick was raw and my legs had been turned to jelly. There were so many hickeys over my body you’d think I had just been attacked by a legion of succubi.

If we were still back on those vampire-frenzy days, that could be a good excuse. I mean, they are basically the same thing, right?

My knees were so shaken up, I was dreading the idea of even going downstairs to wait for a cab home. Apparently, Derek had not even considered that as a possibility.

“Just sleep over,” he said, pulling me back into bed before I found the strength to leave.

“I have classes early tomorrow.”

“I can message Lydia and she can send someone to pick you up in the morning.”

“Won’t people find it even slightly weird?”

“Even more weird than you sneaking out in the middle of the night?” he noted, wrapping his arm around my chest. “Besides, you are my _live-in assistant_ , Stiles. You’re supposed to _assist_ me.”

“In what? Falling asleep?” I scoffed. With his nose snuggled against the back of my neck, it seemed to be exactly what he had in mind.

I figured he just wanted me around in case he needed another quickie in the middle of the night. A tight, warm hole, that was what I was. Well, currently, not so much on the ‘tight’ part, but a warm hole nonetheless.

But, hey, with the paycheck I’m getting, that’s fine, isn’t it?

 

* * * * *

 

I woke up later that morning to the sound of my cellphone alarm, warning me I had to get my ass up or I would be late for class.

Derek was nowhere to be found; the bed at my side felt empty. I was hoping he just had to leave for an early shooting, and not another family drama situation – otherwise I would be pretty pissed off he didn’t even bother to wake me up before taking off.

Then again, I think I would have been pissed off if he had woken me anyway.

I kinda just rolled around in bed for a while, trying to gather up courage to actually get up and go do something with my life. There was something oddly comforting about sticking around in the dirty sheets, even if they smelled of sweat and had enough cum stained on them to sustain a small fertility clinic for a year.

It was probably my inner desire to avoid responsibilities talking, though. Who knows.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t mind me using all the hot water”, I groaned to myself. Derek’s bathroom had a bathtub _and_ a shower, side by side with each other, because… well, it’s Derek, and I honestly should not have expected anything else. The guy looked like he would either live in an empty loft with nothing but a bed and a table or somewhere with its own personal stock of lush bath bombs. There was no in-between.

I was curious to know if the tub did that Harry Potter thing where each faucet had a different smell or something, but I was slightly caught off-guard upon entering the room by the sight of Derek’s dirty laundry in a corner. His underwear was right on top.

They were bright pink Andrew Christian’s, with black and white edges. I could still remember how well they fit against Derek’s skin, snuggling on all the right curves. _Still smelled like him_ , I found myself thinking, bringing the boxers close to my nose – almost by instinct. It was a strong musk; intoxicating, even.

And, for some reason, it really turned me on.

God, it was wrong. I knew it was wrong. There was no part of me that wasn’t fully, completely, one-hundred percent aware of how wrong it was, and yet I couldn’t find enough strength to stop it.

Tugging my dick between my fingers, jerking off against the sink with my nose shoved against the inside of his underwear like a fourteen-year-old virgin who’d stolen his old man’s porn mags and was trying to be sneaky about it.

I was ashamed, confused, and God – so very, _very horny_.

 I didn’t even think I had enough energy for another orgasm (or fluid, for that matter), but again my body proved me wrong, in a messy, all-over-the-tiles way. At least I managed to avoid staring at my own shameless reflection on the medicine cabinet’s mirror, depravedly calling out the name of my boss as I reached my peak. God, and I thought a sentence like that couldn’t be any more perverted.

Just to make sure that I had indeed sunk rock-bottom, I finished my adventure in Derek’s bathroom by stealing his smelly boxers. Was it because it probably cost more than half my college books? Was it because I wanted a souvenir? Was it because they actually felt really good and I wanted to try them out? I don’t know. Maybe all of it, maybe a bit of each; the point was, by the time I was done cleansing myself from my despicable acts, the urge to take the underwear took over, and I was done fighting my instincts.

He would probably not even notice, right?

On my way out, though, I was the one to notice something. He had left the contract over the table – I hit me I still had to sign it – along with a companion gift. I felt my stomach sinking in a little bit when I saw it, all shiny and silver and brand-new. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know; but it did make me feel a little bit fizzled on the inside.

‘Now you don’t have to knock’, it said on the paper next to it, on what I assumed was Derek’s handwriting. He ought to have taken calligraphy lessons, his cursive was very impressive.

The key to his apartment was also very impressive, but to a much higher extent.

Underneath the paper and the key, I spotted his signature, making our contract Official and Real. After the night before – and this morning – there was no way I could see it as anything else.

So I signed it, too. And may the odds be ever in my favor.

 

* * * * *

 

In retrospect, wearing Derek’s underwear was a terrible mistake.

It was a terrible mistake because whenever I felt it against my skin, all softy and welcome-y, it reminded me of him; and when it reminded me of him, it reminded me of what we had done; and every time I remembered what we had done (and, more specifically, the positions in which we had done it), I got an erection.

The second day in a row that I got a boner in class. That couldn’t be good, right? What if it happened _every day_? Would I have to walk around campus with a hard-on trying to peak out of my clothes? Would girls like that? No, never mind, that would be super offensive. I’d probably get kicked out of campus. Well, not kicked out of campus, because there had been reports of guys doing much worse – those damn fratboys – but still… that would be fucked up.

And can you imagine it happening on Christmas dinner? Grandma trying to say grace while my dick was trying to turn the table over? That would be awful. Poor grandma.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

I even tried to focus on the lyrics of Frozen for a while – _conceal it, don’t feel it, don’t let it show_ – but if anything, it was just making it worse. Damn those animators making cartoon characters so attractive! My only hope was that nobody else had really noticed it, as the class was super-boring and almost everyone had their heads pressed against the table, hoping for the sweet release of death (or the end of turn).

Unfortunately, you can always count on _some people_ to actually pay attention to what they are studying.

“You alright, Stiles? You look a little… flushed” Kira said, poking me on the ribs. She was sitting next to me, on the back of the class, for reasons I still could not properly understand. It was the only class me and Future Mrs. Nakamura-McCall (or just Nakamura; let’s be real, Scott would probably take her last name) had in common, which most of the times was a true blessing, because I could copy her notes and cheat on her test without her noticing, but today was not a good day.

It was hard to keep focus on your best-friend’s girlfriend when you are desperately trying to keep your dick from leaking all over someone else’s underwear. Again, a sentence I never imagine would occur to me.

“Yeah, uh, indigestion”, I lied, shuffling my legs a bit.

“Scott was worried you didn’t show you last night, he thought you had been abducted.”

“But they already caught that serial killer guy…”

“No, by aliens.”

“Oh.”

That didn’t make any more sense.

“Anyway,” she leaned forward, whispering a bit lower. Not that she needed to, anyway, because the teacher was still vigorously writing on the white board and paying little attention to the rest of the class. Part of me knew I should be focused on that, because the test was exactly a week from now, but part of me also knew that if I pushed my hips back and forth just slightly every once in a while, the friction against the bag on my lap would be just about enough. “Since he couldn’t get a hold of you, he asked me to tell you he won’t be home later.”

“Why not?”

“He’s got that tutoring class.”

“Scott’s taking a tutoring class?”

“No, he is the _tutor_.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“He’s teaching that kid, Liam Dumbass – sorry, Liam Dunbar.”

“Scott is teaching him? Our Scott? Scott McCall? The one with the uneven chin and the puppy dog eyes? The half-Mexican one? _That_ Scott?”

“Yes, him!” she groaned, punching me in the arm. I whined; Kira is stronger than she’d let on. “You shouldn’t underestimate him so much. Scott’s really smart.”

“Of course he is. He just doesn’t have the attention spam to teach someone. Neither of us does.”

That was what made our friendship ever-lasting and incredible. We were both hyperactive minds; except only one of those had to actually take medication because of that.

And it wasn’t Scott, unfortunately.

“In any case, he just asked me to pass along the message”, she shrugged.

“Yeah, I got it, thanks.”

Scott was busy. That was cool by me. At least until I realized I was the one that would have to make lunch. _Well, white rice and scrambled eggs it is, then_ , I groaned, and at last my boner had gone away – but at what cost?

Maybe I should have just stayed in bed.

 

* * * * *

 

Having the key to Derek’s apartment made me feel strangely powerful. It’s not every day you get a free-pass to the home of a big shot celebrity, you know? And since he worked for most of the day (and sometimes at night), I could just go over there whenever I wanted. Hell, I could even just hang out there for the thirty days! Granted, that would kinda go against why I decided to take the job in the first place – keeping my house and whatnot – but it was still a nice opportunity.

And… well, I didn’t have a job, didn’t have a whole lot of friends, and aside from studying for my classes (which, honestly, is not something I can find the strength to do often), I had nothing to do; Derek’s place seemed as good as any a place to hang out. Yeah, he didn’t have an X-Box or a PS or a Wii or anything, but there was still a big ass television, probably lots of snacks, and a couch that was far more comfortable than the one we whisked out of the trash, currently residing in our living room.

On my way there, I kept wondering whether or not it would smell like Derek. Or maybe it smelled like me? I had rubbed myself against those cushions so hard I thought I would shed a second skin. It was still really hot, though.

I also wondered what would have happened if Peter Hale hadn’t called. I guess we would probably have done it right there and then. On the table, also. And in any other flat surfaces; or standing, if my legs could take it.

Jeesh. Would we have sex as many times as we did the first night? I don’t think my body can take that kind of strength. I’m less than 150 pounds of really pale skin and very fragile bones. There is just so much pounding a guy like me can take before his intestines take the shape of the other dude’s dick.

Speaking of the other guy, he was waiting for me the moment I stepped into his apartment. Okay, alright – technically speaking, he wasn’t. In fact, he didn’t know I was even there. By the sounds coming from the bedroom, Derek was sound asleep, probably exhausted.

He would later tell me he had to leave before the sun was up because his crazy-ass director wanted a very specific kind of lightning for a very specific kind of shot, in a very specific part of town, and he had been going from scene to scene since then.

I should have probably turned around right there and left. I should have just gone back home, waited for him to call me or just come back later, when he would be awake. Yeah, I should have done that.

But as you can imagine, I didn’t.

Instead, I dropped my clothes over the armchair, sneaking into his bedroom to see what Mr. Hale looked like when he wasn’t all dorky or composed or buried nine inches deep inside of me. What did Derek look like when he was relaxed?

Much to my disappointment, he looked as strikingly handsome as you could have it.

He was sprawled on his bed,             naked as we came, hair all messy and snoring like a pig. Handsome as hell, but – just as I had guessed – progressively more undressed.

I sat down next to him on the bed, watching his chest go up and down, my eyes wandering over his body. The strong, hairy legs, the strong, hairy…everything else. How many other guys had had the chance of contemplating him like that? More importantly, who had been the first?

No, that was not – it was not something I needed to know.

I did wonder though; he had called me beautiful the first time we ever did anything. If my scrawny-assed self was beautiful, what was he supposed to be, a godsend?

I’m not denying the possibility. This is more of a pertinent question, honestly.

I run my hands over his thighs, playing with the stray hair between my fingers. Derek groans something, but he’s still sound asleep, and it doesn’t look like it’s enough to bring him out of his slumber. His dick kinda flopped a bit, though.

It dawns on me that it’s the first time I was actually seeing it soft. Not exactly his most best-looking feature, but then again, no penis is ever pretty as far as I know. Lots of extra foreskin, though – it’s clear Mr. and Mrs. Hale never considered Judaism as an option.

 _Then again_ , I thought to myself, my fingers reaching the base of his pubes. _Why would he care about a bunch of extra skin when he’s got Thor’s hammer between his legs?_

Thor’s hammer. God. This is the worst euphemism for a penis I’ve ever used.

When it was fully hard, I could barely fit it between my fingers, much less in my mouth. Soft, it was easier to handle, but not half as fun.

Slowly, I leaned in and took the head between my lips, rolling my tongue around the crown. Working my hand around the shaft, I worked its way in, until I could feel Derek’s pubes on my nose. That was when I started to regret my decision.

Because, well, sure – it was soft when it went in, and it fit nicely, but it didn’t occur to me that being inside my mouth, with my tongue playing around and sucking on it back and forth would make it _not-soft_ in no time.

It grew, thick and mighty, wedging itself against the back of my throat. I was gagging on it and backing for air, but there was a firm hand on the back of my head, holding me in place.

“Best way to wake up”, Derek mumbled, still groggy, his fingers playing with my hair. He pulled my face onto his groin, impaling me with his dick again.

I craned my neck and stretched out over the bed, trying to get a better position, but there was no way to get comfortable anyway. Derek never let go of me while I moved, face-fucking me in deep, slow strokes; his cock plowed into me, digging deeper inside my throat each time, closer and closer to the base.

It was almost a natural reaction, the way he humped my face, his muscles flexing and tightening as he went in and out of my eager mouth. I whimpered and moaned around his meat, slurping on it as much as I could, for as long as I could, my aw aching whenever he coaxed me into taking more of him in.

I would look up to him, and Derek would have his eyes closed, head pushed back, mouth hanging open; pulling on his own hair, chest arched, breathing out of rhythm. Like it was a religious experience.

For both him and me.

“You – you’re getting good at this”, he said, when I went back for air. “Real good.”

It was hard to tell which part of my body wanted to turn red the most. “Not a skill set I thought I’d ever need to develop.”

“But aren’t you glad you did?” he winked, stroking my cheek. I figured that was a code to go back to work.

I ran my tongue up and around his shaft, dragging it upwards from his balls all the way to the tip; then down, flicking the curves of his bulging veins; then rinse and repeat. Derek whined whenever he felt me teasing underneath the hoodie of his foreskin, never letting him push more than just the tip between my lips.

It felt good to see him being the one on the edge, this time around.

While I kept stroking his dick – precum oozing all over my fist – Derek guided my head down, to his nuts and onwards. I took them in my mouth, all hairy and heavy and ready to burst; Derek’s dick rubbed all over my face as I play with each and both, before moving down to his crack.

That was when I knew I’d hit jackpot.

Derek opened his legs to give me more space to work, his dick practically bouncing over his abs in excitement. I’d never eaten ass before, but by Derek’s reaction to the friction of my tongue, it was just like going down on a girl – but girls were the furthest thing from my mind at that point.

It was Derek. All Derek. Derek and the squeaky, shuddering sounds he made as I laved at his entrance, my tongue pushing its way inside of him; Derek, whose grip on my head had been reduced to his fingers pulling my hair, just enough to make sure I ‘don’t stop, please, don’t stop’.

His breathing was fast and erratic, and I could just tell getting tongue-fucked wouldn’t be enough. I turned my attention back to his cock, taking it all back into my mouth in one swift move.

My head went light quickly and my throat closed against the invasion, but I didn’t pull back. Instead I persevered through my gagging reflexes, my throat-muscles massaging Derek’s dick all the way over the edge.

And when he came, it was just as I’d imagined – loud and long and he didn’t stop fucking my face for a second. The first shots were all the way down my throat, but I managed to pull back enough to fill my mouth and spray my face. The more I swallowed, the more it seemed to come out.

In his post-orgasmic haze, Derek seemed delighted to see my covered in his cum.

To be honest, it didn’t taste as bad as I thought it would. Kinda salty, kinda bittersweet. I just wished it hadn’t gotten all over my hair.

“You sure look like you enjoyed yourself”, he joked, rubbing his thumb over my puffed lips. I considered biting him just to prove his point.

“I could enjoy myself even more”, I noted, sitting back on my knees. I’d been humping the mattress so much my – his – underwear was as soaked as my face, and the strain made me want to tear it off.

Derek smiled to himself, clearly loving the sight. “That could be arranged.”

Yes, it could, but… just as he was about to pull down the boxers, the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened.

I heard a ringtone in the distance.

“Are you gonna answer it?” I asked, through gritted teeth – which was the nicest way I could say _if this is Peter Hale again trying to cockblock me I’ll personally fly to wherever he is and strangle him with my aux cords_.

“I think… I think it’s _your_ cell phone, though”, he cringed, and that didn’t make me feel any better.

My phone never ringed, unless it were bill collectors, my mother and her periodic check-up to see if I remembered to take a bath more than once a day, or Scott.

Given mom only calls on Fridays and I blocked most of the people I own money to, that only left…

“Hey dude! What’s up?” Scott said, on the other side of the line. He sounded chirpy, which meant he had something interesting to spill.

“Hey man. Did something happen?”

“Kinda. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since yesterday!”

“I’m… at work”, I said. Not necessarily a lie. “I – I had to take a bunch of extra shifts, see if I could get some more money.”

“Uh, that explains a lot”, he chuckled.

I tried, too, but I was caught by surprise by Derek’s hands around my waist. I had barely heard him approaching, but I could definitely feel him now. God, does this guy’s dick ever go down? “Who is it?” he asked, his nose teasing behind my ear.

“Scott”, I muttered, away from the phone.

“Keep him on the line.”

“What?”

“Just do it”, he insisted.

I didn’t even have time to process what was happening. In one side I was talking to my best-friend, who’s rambling about one thing or another, while on the other Derek rubbed my dick over the fabric of the boxers.

I really tried to make an effort and pay attention to whatever Scott was saying – something about Mr. Finstock and the rent, I figured – but Derek was scratching his teeth against the nape of my neck, on that really sensitive piece that made my eyes roll back on their sockets.

“Dude, I – I have no idea. What do you think?” I asked back, pretending I had the slightest bit of a clue of what he was asking me about. Derek was playing with my nipple and grinding his hips against mine; I tried pulling down the underwear, but he moved my hand away.

I didn’t know why I expected anything differently.

“Maybe we’re just hashtag-blessed”, he laughed, and I mimicked him, although it sounded more like I was trying to suppress a moan.

Which I _was_ , but that is not the point.

“You okay, dude? You sound weird”, Scott asked, distraught.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, we just – we got a bunch of costumers, that’s all.”

“You want me to call you later?”

“No, no – come on, keeping going”, I insisted, both to him and Derek, that for whatever reason had decided to move away from me.

I thought he was heading back to the bedroom, but instead he flopped onto the couch, legs spread wide and one arm behind his head. My puzzlement only lasted until I saw his other hand holding the base of his dick up, in a clear statement of what he wanted me to do.

Well, damn. Throw me a Stetson and a lasso and let’s call this a rodeo.

 “How… how was your tutoring, by the way?” I asked, throwing my underwear off. Derek spit on his palm and used it to lube up his dick – which was super gross, but also kinda hot.

“You won’t believe it, but, like… we were half-way through the lesson, and Liam looked like he was understanding everything, but then he just, like, put his hand on my thigh and squeezed it.”

“What for?” I asked, climbing over Derek. My knees stranded against his waist, his dick nested against my bum. He had a wicked grin on his face, which was definitely worrisome – and I soon understood why.

“‘Cos he wanted to blow me, apparently.”

“MotHERFUCKER.”

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

I wasn’t. I was screaming and whimpering and gasping and tearing up. Derek had hooked both hands around my hips and pulled me against his crotch, shoving his entire dick inside of me in one long, painful thrust. I dug my nails against his chest as hard and deep as I could, cursing the last seven generations of his family under my breathe.

I don’t think he even felt it.

“Y-Y-Yeah,” I stuttered. “S-some dude just t-tried to pay for a thing of fries with a hundred dollar bill.”

An actual thing that had actually happened, but not the reason I was about to pass-out. The stab of pain had been so sudden and so profound, my entire body had gone numb; I held on to Derek’s abs in the fear of passing out there and then.

He didn’t seem to mind. “God, you’re so tight”, he moaned, dragging his dick out, every inch mercilessly rubbing against that sweet spot, just to shove it back in again. It sent jolts of energy running up my spine.

“ _Damn_. Your job is the worst”, Scott joked.

“You have no idea”, I whined. My pain seemed to be turning Derek on even more; he was slowly working his cock in eight-shape movements, slipping it out all the way to the tip and then back in, forcing a squeak out of me every time.

Derek knew I had to keep my mouth shut, he knew I couldn’t let Scott know what was going on the other side of the line. He seemed delighted in seeing just how far I could take it. “So, did you – did you let him?” I asked Scott, chewing the insides of my mouth. Derek was playing with my nipples until they got harder than my leaking dick.

“No! Dude! He looks _twelve_!” Scott laughed wholeheartedly. “To be honest, I thought he was into Kira – never been more wrong. At least it was some good money. Shame he probs won’t call me again.”

“You – you didn’t even tell me he had called in the first place”, I noted.

“We needed the cash and… I kinda talked to my dad, so…”

And he went on to disclose a conversation he and his father had had. Apparently Raphael had offered him a buckload of money, which was honestly something he ought to have done before anyway. As anything that came from Agent McDoucheface, however, there was a catch – he wanted Scott to switch majors. Chaos ensued.

I tried giving him my moral support, but Derek noticed I was paying more attention to the call than him, so he stopped moving. When I gave him a puzzled look, he just wiggled his eyebrows at me, resting his hands behind his head.

 _Fuck yourself_ , he mouthed. Not asking.

 _I hate you_ , I mouthed back, raising my hips until he was all the way out; just to sink down again, my balls slapping against his pubes. He closed his eyes and moaned, like he was staring in a damn video.

The worst part is that it was really hot.

I held on to the cushions and his chest to keep me balance, my body arching up and down on its own. Stars danced before my eyes whenever I reached down, to fill in the emptiness of moving up; sharp breathes and sharper thrusts. My whole body shivered when it rubbed against his.

Scott’s voice was an echo against my ear, anchoring me. He was done talking about his dad. “In any case, at least we got some money for tomorrow, right?”

“What – what about tomorrow?”

“You, me, Kira and her friend. Tell me you didn’t forget about that already!”

“No, I – I haven’t.”

“Great, then. Make sure you don’t bail out last minute.”

“I’m coming, dude, I’m really – God, really, really – _fuck_ –”

“I didn’t know you were so excited about it!”

I wasn’t. Shit. Derek had wrapped his hands around my boner like a fleshlight, so when I rocked my hips forward I would fuck myself between his fingers. Faster and faster and faster, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

I came before he did, squeezing every drop out of his dick. It went all over his face; it was his turn to get a load up his nostrils.

Scott seemed bewildered by the noises I was trying to restrain. “You sure you okay? Stiles?”

“Yeah, I’m just – can I call you later? A bunch of people just came in.”

“That’s one way to put it”, Derek joked. I hit him on his hard pecs, but it hurt my hand more than anything.

I had turned off the phone and let it slip from my fingers even before Scott had had the chance to say goodbye. My body was all woozy, and I let myself rest on the furry comfort of Derek’s chest.

He was all sweaty and sticky, but damn, he still smelled good. That didn’t stop me from being angry at him, though.

“Don’t do that again”, I growled, pinching his nipple.

“Do what?”

“You _know_ what. My ass is still hurting.”

“Sorry, sorry. It was the heat of the moment.”

“The ‘heat of the moment’ should’ve tried to use some damn lube!”

I pinched him again, but he just laughed. Son of a bitch. “Sorry. Should we put it on the contract, then? Just to make sure?”

“It’s already there, I’m sure. On the part it says we shouldn’t try to kill each other, or poke each other’s livers from the inside.”

“Then it’s settled”, he chuckled, pulling me closer and ruffling my hair with his nose.

I wanted to complain a bit more, but I was kinda dozing off to sleep already, so what was the point. Derek’s fingers massaging the back of my head, and if I wasn’t lying there already, my knees would have melted.

“So… you’re going out tomorrow?” he asked.

 “Is that a problem?”

“Not really. Outside this apartment, you can whatever you want, as long as you’re around when I call you.”

Ironically, he had not been the one to initiate contact so far. “But does that mean you’re gonna call me halfway through my date, just to mess with me?”

“You think I’m that kind of horrible boss?”

“Want me to answer honestly?”

Derek huffed, his face still against my hair. His heartbeat against my chest, my breathing in synch with his. I figured we should at least move back to the bedroom, but it was _really_ comfortable and my eyelids were getting _really_ heavy.

Before I could actually fall asleep though, I could still hear Derek asking “by the way – that was my underwear, right?”

 

 


	6. the cake is a lie.

_**Chapter Six.** _

 

I woke up to a trail of kisses going up my shoulder; the nibbling of teeth against my earlobe. Much better than any alarm clock I’ve ever had – even if Derek’s beard still felt weird against my skin.

 But what can ya do. Nothing is perfect.

“Your cellphone is ringing”, he whispered in my ear. “It’s telling you it’s time to go to class.”

“Then I better follow that advice”, I yawned, but without actually finding the strength to even open my eyes. It was nice, being cuddled up next to Derek. Especially when his dick wasn’t trying to each all the way into clavicle.

I had to go, though. I had a test later that day.

“Did you even study for that at all?” Derek asked, giving me that fuzzy eyebrow-thing he tended to do.

“Nope.”

“And how do you intend to pass this test?”

“By praying to God and hoping for the best.”

As any normal student does.

He kinda chuckled – I think it was a chuckle – and poked me in the ribs, urging me to get up. Ugh, the worst. When I opened my eyes, it was to find out we had moved from the living room all the way to the bedroom, which explained why I hadn’t rolled out and slammed my face against the coffee table yet.

It was kinda awkward to imagine Derek picking me up and carrying me in his arms to the bedroom, though. Also sorta roma—

Wait, no. Definitely not that.

“Maybe I should be getting ready, too”, he said, stretching out.

“Do you want to hit the showers first, or-?”

“Why don’t we go together?”

He smiled at me, and there was such a lack of subtlety, you’d wonder how the guy made-pretend for a living.

“Alright, but – no funny stuff. I really have to go to school!”

 

* * * * *

 

Pfft. Like _that_ was gonna convince anyone.

I knew Derek’s intentions were far from innocent from the beginning, yet I decided to indulge him. At first he kept up with his promise; aside from a couple of jokes about how cold water defeats boner (like I didn’t know that first-hand) and splashing me whenever we switched, nothing happened. Then, of course, we had to soap-up.

“Can I do your back?” he asked, massaging my shoulders. I nodded a yes, allowing him to run his hands down my back – leisurely, tracing the shoulder blades, drawing circles over the shape of my spine.

It was hard to keep myself from gasping when I felt his fingers going lower, slipping between the cracks of my ass. “D-Derek, what did I tell you?”

“I’m not doing anything”, he whispered, mouth pressed against my ear. The tip of his finger was tracing my entrance, sparking chills up my spine. His other hand found its way to my nipples, before going… lower. “But if I were, it seems you would be enjoying it.”

It wasn’t my fault handjobs felt much better with soap.

I reached behind me for his cock, and yet again he tried to pull my hand away. This time I stood my ground and grabbed it anyway. “Why are you always the only one that can have fun?” I asked, pressing my head against the tile.

“Does that mean you have fun having sex with me?”

“Shut up.”

Derek spun me around, pressing his body against me. I could feel the entire length of his dick rubbing against mine. “Do you like having sex with me, Stiles?” he asked again.

I… I didn’t answer. He took that as a challenge.

His thumb rubbed gently down my shaft; his foreskin covered my cockhead as our dicks brushed against each other. I whimpered when his mouth closed around my Adam’s apple, like he was trying to rip my throat out with his teeth. Or maybe give me another hickey.

The shower was still running, soaking us up. Slick and wet and hot, even under the cold water. I had my arms around Derek’s head as he pulled me up, my legs wrapped around his waist.

“Do you like it when I fuck you?” he asked a third time, bucking his hips against mine. He had no intention of fucking me just yet; he wanted to me to ask for it. He wanted me to feel his cock as it grinded against mine, making me feel the friction between us. Making me want more. Making me _ache_ for it.

I pulled his hair, fingers digging against his scalp. “Please.”

“You just have to admit it”, Derek insisted. He’d closed his hand around both our dicks, thrusting back and forth into his fingers – a little faster each time. “Do you like having sex with me?”

I didn’t want to admit it – I didn’t – I – “I do. _Fuck_. I do.”

Derek grinned. “Good boy.”

 He lined up his dick against my ass and pushed his way in. I arched my back, trying the best I could to ease down on him; gasping whenever his cock pressed against my prostate.

I came after just a couple of good, long thrusts, my dick wedged between our stomachs – but Derek didn’t stop. His fingers gripped me tighter as he plunged into me, faster and faster each time. I was still sensitive, but he had me stiff again in a matter of seconds.

It was hard to hold on to him and not slip on the tiles. Derek solved that by turning me around, face pressed on the glass and hips pushed back.

His hand was gripping me on the back of the neck, while mine grabbed his thigh, trying to keep him closer to me for as long as I could.

The second time I came, we did it together. I don’t think I even touched myself this time, though.

 

* * * * *

 

Needless to say, I didn’t do well in my test.

Actually, to say I didn’t do well would be a euphemism; it was terrible. Terrible, terrible, terrible. Not the most terrible test I’ve ever taken, of course (I bombed my driving test like… three times, I think), but definitely one for the records.

I could blame Derek for it, but truth is, I had a whole lot of time to study, but I was lazy. Lazier than usual. I should have studied. God, why didn’t I study?

What consoles me is knowing I wasn’t the only one to bomb the shit out of it. There were people crying, man – before, during and after. One of them was Greenberg, I’m pretty sure, but Greenberg is always crying. If he was a Pokémon, that would be his special attack.

He _did_ come talk to me after class was over, asking how life was. I hadn’t been around a whole lot since I quit, apparently, and he had been sick last class, so that was a whole week without seeing each other. Honestly, I didn’t even notice he wasn’t around.

I never said I wasn’t a terrible person.

Greg came talk to me because he wanted to hang out. That same day, to be more precise. The semester was ending (thankfully) and with me away from the burger joint, he thought we would not see each other as often. Why that was a bummer, I don’t know. Maybe Greenberg just didn’t have a lot of friends.

In any case, since he’d heard I was going out tonight, he wanted to tag along. By ‘heard’, I mean that Erica had told him, and Erica heard from her boyfriend Boyd, and Boyd knew because he worked on the ice rink we were supposed to be going to. I know, I know; this is some Gossip Girl kind of bullshit – next thing you know there is a Tumblr about it.

“ _Spotted! **S** and **K** watching S’s BFF **S2** embarrass himself trying to walk on skates_ ” _._ Don’t ask me why I’m S2. I’m the sidekick even in my own fantasies.

I thought it was a terrible idea to let Greg tag along, because the odds of him babbling that I was no longer working at Brett’s were extremely high and extremely likely, but I wouldn’t want him to go home and drown himself on ice-cream and Netflix, so eh. Why not?

I recalled Scott saying something about the ice rink the night before. Right after that rant about his dad, and the rent. What _was_ it about the rent he’d mentioned? Did we get kicked out, already?

No, it was something else. It was –

“What do you mean someone already paid the rent?” I asked, the moment I stepped into the apartment.

Scott was in his underwear (despite it being the middle of the afternoon, of December, with the first signs of snow already popping up out there), eating dry cereal out of a bowl and watching reruns on Cartoon Network. That was the most Scott thing you could ever find him doing. “What do you mean? I thought you did.”

“Don’t you think I would have told you?”

“You didn’t deny when I asked you yesterday.”

“That’s –”

Because I wasn’t paying attention. Goddamn it.

“If you didn’t pay it, who did?” Scott asked, turning the TV off.

Of my life and the people in it that could afford to pay off three months of rent, there was only one name that fit the bill. “Maybe my dad”, I lied, Derek’s number already lining up in my head.

“Can he pay that much money off the bat like that?”

“Not really, but you know how my dad is.”

“You should call him, just to make sure”, he said. “But hey – even if it wasn’t him, you won’t use that as excuse to bail tonight, will you?”

“Why would I _possibly_ do that?”

“Because I _know_ you? Come on, dude! You’re gonna like her. Heather is a thing of beauty.”

 “So you keep saying. But what about her other attributes?”

“You mean… her boobs?”

I sighed. “No, dude. I mean, is she smart? Is she funny?”

“Yes! Dude! Don’t you trust me?”

I wanted to say yes, because I did, but I also wanted to say no, because the concept of romance did not quite mash up with Scott McCall. Not because he wasn’t good at keeping his girlfriends or anything, but more because he somehow always ended up sleeping with mine.

As soon as I was out of Scott’s hearing distance, I called Lydia. She was – as you’d expect – screaming at someone on the other side of the line, with the occasional short breaks to tell me she couldn’t talk right there and then, but we should meet up at the coffee shop in an hour. I don’t know why that girl screams so much.

I was there ten minutes before schedule, just to find her already waiting for me with a half-eaten slice of cake and a mocha before her.

“Sorry I’m late”, I said, taking the chair in front of hers.

“You’re not, I just got here earlier”, she shrugged, without taking her eyes off the iPad.

“You seem… busy. Is this a bad time?”

“Nah. I’m just trying to find a solution for this whole director problem.”

“What director problem?”

For the first time she looked away from the screen. “Didn’t Derek tell you?”

“No. Should he?”

“Guess not.” She frowned. “Anyway – the current director is being a pain in the ass to everybody. Word is they are gonna replace him to some other half-talented wannabe looking to get a career boost. We are probably gonna stay in town for a while longer.”

Lydia took a sip of her drink, letting me swallow the news. To be perfectly honest, I was not sure how I was supposed to respond – I didn’t even know what that really meant. Was my contract going to be extended? Or did that make no difference?

Derek had not mentioned it, but… Derek and I didn’t talk about a whole lot of things. Was that a bad thing? Probably not, right? Our thing was entirely professional.

Which brought us to another point. “Speaking of that – did you pay my rent?”

“Yes”, she answered, back on her iPad.

“Why?”

“Because I went there to give you the contract and found Finstock trying to kick you out. Couldn’t let that happen, now, could I?”

“Does – does Derek know about it?”

“No, and he doesn’t need to. This is not a gift, Stiles – it’s an advance payment. Chill out.”

“I’m always chill.”

“And I always have eight hours of sleep every night, if we are talking about things that aren’t true. Now, is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Uh…”

It wasn’t. There was something else that had been bugging me since I’d left Derek’s apartment earlier. It wasn’t something I could discuss with Scott, and even if I could, I’d be too embarrassed to even try.

It was just… not something easy to talk about.

“Derek asked me something this morning”, I admitted, chewing down the insides of my cheeks. “He… he asked if I liked having sex with him.”

Lydia’s eyebrows went up. “What did you answer?”

“I… I said yes. And… and it’s _true_ , but…”

“…but you feel like it shouldn’t be”, she completed. “Figures.”

“It’s just – I mean – I’ve never – not really –”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know”, she took a long, deep sigh, right before sinking into her chair. “Okay, Stiles, let’s just – okay. So, for your whole life, you… only ate pie. You love pie. Pie is moist and it’s wet and it’s welcoming. You didn’t get to eat pie very often, but when you did, you ate as much as you could.”

“That’s… one way of putting it.”

“But then”, she pushed the plate with cake in my direction. “You got a taste of cake. You’d never had cake before. You never thought you even liked it, which is a bit surprising, ‘cause – well, you and Scott…”

“Hey! What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“In high school everybody thought you two were eating each other’s cakes. Just sayin’”, she shrugged again, wiping the cream of her cake with a finger and stuffing it in her mouth. “In any case – you tasted the cake, and you liked it. No, you _loved_ it. And now you’re questioning whether or not you really like pie at all.”

Wait, _what_? “No, I’m not. I like pie! I’ll always like pie.”

“Yeah, but even if you found out you didn’t – that you like cake more now – that’s the sort of thing that happens. Nothing is set on stone. Sometimes people go their whole lives eating only pie, but then they taste cake and find out that’s what they really like. For others, it’s the other way around. Some people like both. Some people like neither. There are those that are taught they are cakes their whole lives, but then find out they are pies – and vice-versa. Or maybe they are something else entirely. Or a mix of both.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Life is messy. And then we die. Might as well enjoy what’s to eat before we go”, she chuckled, taking a sip of her coffee. “I myself enjoy pie every once in a while. No big deal.”

…That part I wasn’t aware of.

Then again, what did I know about Lydia anymore? What did I know about anything, by the looks of it?

It did make me wonder if the rumors of her and Allison were true, back in the day. At least before Allison started dating Scott. They always did look like they were more than just gal pals to me…

“Regardless of what dessert you pick in the end, just remember what I told you the other day”, Lydia continued, bringing me back to her.

“You mean, about me not falling in love?”

“Yes. It’s definitely about that.”

“Don’t worry, Lydia. You know me. That would never happen”, I assured her, and it almost sounded like the truth.

I think she kinda noticed that, ‘cause her nose wrinkled and she stuffed her face with more cake. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Jeesh, talk about having faith in your friends”, I groaned. “Do you want something? I’m gonna get something to eat.”

She muttered something about a croissant, eyes back on her iPad. I went to the counter, where Danny the Barista Guy seemed to be already waiting for me.

“What for today?” he asked, smiling at me in a way that made his dimples pop out even more.

“I think… I think I’m gonna have some cake.”

 

* * * * *

 

Picking an outfit for a date is a very dramatic, very careful process.

First you have to consider what kind of place you are going. Is it a movie theater? Are you going out for drinks? Or are you going to an ice rink? You can’t go wearing a suit to a beach party.

You also have to make sure your clothes are easy to take off if you are somewhere small – like, say, the backseat of a car. Not that I ever got to bang anyone in the jeep, mind you. I don’t even think there’s enough space.

Other important thing to consider is whether this is a first date or not. After the first date you don’t actually need to put that much effort into your looks. As long as you don’t go wearing a garbage bag, everything goes.

Particularly, after burying my nose on Derek’s pubes, I’ll never complain about someone’s trimming ever again.

But Derek is not what I should be thinking about right now. I should focus my attention on Heather. I was really nervous about meeting her, speaking of which – I don’t often do well when interacting with other humans. I don’t exactly have a warm and welcoming personality, y’know.

She was waiting for us – with Kira – in front of the ice skate rink. Really beautiful; kinda had an ‘all-American girl’ vibe going on. I was definitely into that. Somewhat reminded me of that Cinderella girl from the live-action version.

Hopefully she was just into the R-Rated version of them fairy tales. If you catch my drift.

I stumbled out of the jeep, excited to see her, until I noticed Erica and Greenberg were there, too. Only then I realized they didn’t know that Scott didn’t know that I had quit – a can of worms I didn’t want to open right before the date began.

“Why don’t you guys go right in, I’m…gonna have a chat with my bros here”, I said, pulling the both of them aside.

Greg seemed really excited to be called a bro.

“I’m just going to stick around Boyd, I don’t plan on getting in your way”, Erica assured, grumpily.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever”, I waved it away, dismissively. “But, like, could you guys _not_ tell Scott I left the burger joint?”

“Why?” Greg asked.

“It’s a…delicate matter”, I said, scratching the back of my head. “Just – do this one for me, a’ight? For old times’ sake.”

“You left a week ago. That’s not old times. And you didn’t even _tell us_ ”, Erica groaned, pushing past me.

Yeesh. And I thought I was the one that needed a mood-boost.

Erica may have been pissed at me, but at least she kept her mouth shut for the rest of the night. Greenberg, too, although it mostly looked like Greg was just excited to be part of the gang.

Despite keeping an ear out for any indiscretions of my ex-colleagues, I did manage to have a good time. Heather was actually really cool to hang out with: she was funny, but also a good slightly sarcastic and just a bit mean, which is exactly my type of people.

She had a really cute laugh that made her nose wrinkle and her dimples more noticeable, and she was laughing a lot, because neither Kira nor Scott had even the slightest clue how to stand in their skates, much less walk in cursive.

The way she laughed, it kinda reminded me of… no. never mind. That was not something I needed to think about.

Heather told me a couple of things about herself. First, she lived in a sorority house – which was my original plan, until I found out they only accepted ladies; hashtag-bummer – second, she was studying to be an engineer, and third, she knew one of the girls that got targeted by the serial killer past semester, the ‘Tinder Killer’ as they called him.

That was a really traumatic experience for her. Probably more traumatic to the girl that got hacked to pieces in a bush, though. But what do I know.

After Scott almost broke his butt falling on the ice, we decided to move on to more entertaining things. Somehow, ‘more entertaining things’ turned out to be the bowling alley across the street. Yes, I know, I know. Beacon Hills has some weird ass fun places. I think it’s to compensate for the fact that our movie theater is only airing Toy Story 3 now.

Life is a nightmare.

I was surprised that Erica had decided to follow along. She had spent a good deal of time doing that gross thing people in relationships do when they are together, when it looks like they are trying to eat each other’s faces out. You know what I mean, right? It’s like their tongues are battling for dominancy of some part of Westeros or something. I don’t know. Either way, it was super gross, but I thought she was gonna hang out with Boyd a lot more.

Instead she was snuggled next to Greg and they were checking his phone like their lives depended on it. Somehow it didn’t look like anything good was coming out of there.

“What are you two nerds doing?” I asked, taking a couple of steps back to wait for them.

“Marvel’s new casting just came out”, Erica said, with a grimace.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“We are trying to decide”, Greg answered, handing me his phone.

I didn’t recognize the guy they had cast. Some white dude with a stubble; it’s easy to mix these up. Most likely a half-unknown dude trying to get a career boost by selling his soul to Kevin Feige. Wasn’t Derek on a comic book movie?

Derek. The thought of him occurred again as I noticed a note on the newsfeed of the site about his own project. Something or another about the crazy director Lydia had mentioned. There was also a little side-jab about the ‘budding romance’ between Derek and his co-lead, Braeden, with a handful of pictures of them getting cozy on the set.

Of course, I knew those were for publicity’s sake. Derek was a Straight Dude, as far as the pappz were concerned. Still, though, it was a bit… I don’t know. Unsettling? Yes, unsettling, to see him getting intimate.

…not that I care, obviously. Mr. Hale can do whatever he felt like doing. That was none of my business, unless he asked me to join in, in which case I would gladly turn him down. If I’m gonna have a threesome, it’s gonna be me as the ham in a hot-girl sandwich.

“See, I told you he wouldn’t like the news, either”, I heard Greg say. “This is Jared Leto as the Joker all over again.”

“ _Let it go_ , Greg. He is an Oscar winner, for God’s sake.”

“That doesn’t mean he is _good_. It just means a bunch of old white dudes like him.”

“I don’t know if someone has informed you, Greenberg, but someday _you_ will also be an old white dude”, I said, giving him back his phone.

“Yeah, but by then the bees will have died and the human race will be in the brick of extinction”, he shrugged.

Greg always saw the best in any situation.

“Let’s just go throw some balls, nerds”, I groaned, pulling them along.

Turns out that, despite what it may have seemed like previously, I wasn’t that good at handling balls. In fact, I was terrible. So was Scott, I’m afraid, despite the fact that he was ‘Mr. Co-Captain of the Lacrosse Team’ in high-school. _That_ sure paid off.

Kira and Heather were good at it, though. Kira, despite the fact that she would often stumble on her own shoelaces, even when they were not untied, was truly graceful – like a fox. Heather knocked down pins like a hungry Viking. Girl was scary.

Erica sucked, but she was still better than the both of us dudes combined. And then there was Greenberg.

The guy had taken ballet classes when he was younger, because his dad thought it would be a good way to meet girls. He was light on his feet, and could really score a strike when we needed one.

I mean, we still lost, obviously. But at least it wasn’t a knockout. That counts for something, right?

“Not really”, Heather said, laughing her ass off. “What really matters is that you were terrible.”

“Hey! That’s not a nice thing to say”, Scott complained.

“It’s true, though”, Kira joined in, hitting him in the ribs.

We called it a night around twelve. Erica took Greg back home before coming back to see Boyd; Scott took off on Kira’s scooter to her apartment, while I…

Well, I was in charge of taking Heather home.

Not that I minded. We were chatting, she was laughing, we went into a long ass discussion about one of the TV shows we were watching – ‘I mean, yeah, sure, he is a zombie, but then how does he get it up? It makes no sense! He is dead! There is no blood going there!’ ‘Of course there is! That’s why they are called _the living dead_ , dummy’ – but I still felt like there was some kind of… expectation in the air.

Like – like I was supposed to do something, or she was supposed to do something. Either way, something was bound to happen.

Her sorority house was near the public library, and it was super easy to spot. I mean that because, err, the place was – I think the best way to define it is ‘aggressively purple’. A car on fire would be easier to miss.

“Are you sure we are in the right place?” I joked, taking her to the doorsteps. The street was empty, but I didn’t want to take any risks.

“Just so you know, I was really against the color”, she chuckled.  Hand on the doorknob, she turned to me, and we kinda stared at each other for a second, like we were trying to decide what to do.

Then she came forward and kissed me.

And… it was great. Yeah, really great. Really, really great.

But I didn’t feel anything.

I wanted to! I did! But there was nothing there. Not a spark, not fireworks, not bells. Not even a knee-jerk. The worst part is that I think she felt something, because she had her eyes closed long after I had opened mine.

“Do… do you wanna go upstairs?” She asked, biting down her lower lip. “Just – just to talk? Or have a coffee?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. _Shit_. In any other situation – God, yeah, I’d have wanted to. But it would feel like I was lying to her.

Of all the terrible things my parents could’ve taught me, they decided to teach me how to be a good person.

“I… would love to. But I can’t. I have a test tomorrow”, I lied. A minor lie, to compensate for a bigger one. “But I – we could go out again. How about that?”

Heather gave me a strange look, as though she was trying to read through me. I gave her my best – most hopeful – smile, and it was half to convince myself that maybe in another try the sparks would be there.

“Sure”, she said, at last. “That would be nice.”

She gave me her number and another kiss, on the cheek this time, with promises of good nights and best things yet to come. I held on to those hopes as I drove back.

But I didn’t go to my apartment.

 

* * * * *

 

Derek’s home was empty and quiet, and it was pretty much how we – he – had left it that same morning. Part of me was disappointed by not finding him there.

I didn’t know which part it was, exactly.

I left my clothes on the floor near the side of the bed, curling under the sheets with my nose buried in his pillow. There was something soothing and comforting about falling asleep in someone else’s bed – or maybe in that one in particular.

About half an hour later, while still half-asleep, I heard the front door opening. Footsteps approaching. A shadow was standing at the doorway of the bedroom, watching over me.

For a split second I thought Derek was gonna be pissed off I was sleeping at his place, but then I heard him throwing his shirt over a chair, just as he climbed in bed next to me; his arm around my chest and nose breathing softly on the back of my neck.

 


	7. don't do it like they do on the first lyrics of ohshc.

_** Chapter Seven. ** _

 

If I’ve learned anything since I started this new job, is that Derek Hale is a man really hard to conceptualize. Not only his appearance, but his presence… you don’t even know why, he just pulls you into his orbit if you get too close. He is like the sun, with its strong gravitational pull.

And you suddenly understand why Icarus didn’t mind burning off his wings.

On the three days until the weekend to follow, my routine involved going from college to his house, and then back again. Not because I did not have other things to do or people to hang out with. It’s just… when I arrived, either Derek wasn’t around and I could enjoy the place to myself, or he was (obviously) and we had the chance to spend time together.

And – I know you’ll be surprised – it did not involve anyone’s dicks in anybody else’s mouth.

We’d lay together on his couch, watching some shitty supernatural show about teens doing adult things and characters getting killed for shock value (you know how many of these there are out there), my head resting against his chest, or his fingers stroking my head; Derek would make snidey comments about some of the actors he knew whenever one popped on screen – juicy stuff that could get a lot of them in trouble if on the wrong hands, but that mostly just made me laugh.

That fun would only last until he realized I was using it as an excuse to avoid studying for my test. Much to my surprise (and I know it’s a terrible thing to say), it turned out Derek is a really smart dude, especially when it came to math and other egregious subjects. He helped me color-code the most important bits of the textbook and everything.

Sadly, I don’t think it will help me pass. You can’t just catch up on three days what you slacked off in a semester.

I mean, you can certainly _try_ , but…

Anyway. I used these times to help work on one of the things I’d realized while talking to Lydia – that Derek and I didn’t use to talk. At least no more than you’d expect; obviously nothing too personal. Derek wasn’t really the kind of guy to talk too much, but I found if you squeeze him in the right places (literally and figuratively), he can get real chatty.

Of course, that is not to say I spent _all_ my time with Mr. Hale. I had a home to go back to, and a loving, caring roommate who’d be terribly worried if I didn’t show you at least now and again to show him I was still very much alive (if not sitting and walking funny).

And Scott had been really worried about me, too – he insisted I barely had time to breathe, and that I shouldn’t work so many shifts at Brett’s, or I’d end up deep-frying a finger instead of a chicken.

The fact that I did not even work in the kitchen seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“Come on, dude”, he said, one of those days. He hopped behind the couch, massaging my shoulders. “Just try and slow down for a bit.”

“That’s easier said than done”, I whined, giving him my most pitiful look.

“Do you want me to go over there and help you out one of those days?”

“What? No! I mean, I _mean_ , no, dude, you know what I told you, about my boss – he doesn’t want our friends hanging out there.”

“Yeah, but this is since this week, I can pretend I didn’t know yet.”

“He was very adamant about me telling you immediately.”

“Maybe he doesn’t _remember_ me.”

“He absolutely does, trust me.”

“Maybe I could pretend to be a costumer.”

“But then he’d make you buy something. Do you really wanna spend that money?” I reminded him, and it stung a bit to bring money into this, especially when I thought of the money coming to my account in a couple of days.

“This sucks”, he pouted, jumping back on the couch next to me.

He rested his head over my shoulder and I patted his head gently. Among the many wrong things I did in life, lying to Scott was always the one that made me feel bad – even if I knew it was a necessary evil.

I had managed to keep him from going to the burger joint for a week; even managed to keep Greenberg and Erica quiet about it. All I needed was to make sure Scott didn’t stop by for three more weeks.

Easy, if it weren’t for the fact that a week was the longest Scott went without going there for a free refill of soda.

The solution for this, I think, would be rather simple – just find a job somewhere else. I’m gonna need one after my time with Derek is done, right?

Except, well, with the money I’m getting paid, I’m fairly sure Derek expects me as a – his – full-time whore.

And I could never make my boss unhappy.

Scott, sadly, was not the only thing I had to worry about. In fact, Scott’s girlfriend was a much worse headache coming my way.

Kira got to me on the way out of my classes on Friday, and she almost pinned me against a wall, with the kind of strength I didn’t know someone so stout could have.  
But then again, hell hath no fury like the friend of a girl left hanging. Or something on the lines of that.

“Why haven’t you called Heather yet?” she asked, a very stern finger pointed at my face.

“I’m… sorry?”

“You should be. But why haven’t you called her yet?”

Shit. I knew I had forgotten something. “I was – uh – I was waiting – I was waiting for the three-day thing! Yeah! You know, to be polite.”

“You two were burping on each other’s faces to see who was louder. Politeness is already out of the window.”

“I–I don’t remember doing that…”

“What? Are you _doubting_ me?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Good”, she said, easing her grip on my chest. “If you liked her, then call her. If you don’t, just… I don’t know, let her down gently, or something.”

“I did like her, though.” _although perhaps not in the way I was meant to_. “But why didn’t _she_ call _me_?”

“Because she is a dumbass that thinks she did something wrong because you didn’t want to ‘have coffee’ with her after.”

“I… I was tired. I’ve been working a lot lately.”

“Then you _tell her_ that. Hearing it from _me_ won’t help.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

She shoved a piece of paper in my hand, with a bunch of numbers scribed on it. “Hit her up, she’ll probably be waiting.”

I took Heather’s contact, though not as willingly as I’d have Kira think. My luck is that she didn’t wait around to see me actually making the call – she was ‘a very busy lady’, after all – because I had to rehearse how I’d even start the conversation about half a dozen times, and then some.

Even I was getting tired of myself at that point.

But I didn’t have to worry, in the end. Heather was pretty cool about everything, and even if I could hear the worry dropping out of her voice after I explained the situation, she still managed to sound pretty chill.

She asked me to hang out again – ‘maybe Netflix and pizza?’ – but with no expectations.

That could be the title of my biography.

I wanted to try again, y'know, to see if I could feel it this time - that thing you are supposed to feel when you kiss the girl. Maybe it wasn’t a first-time thing; maybe it took practice.

God, I hoped so.

 

* * * * *

 

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” he asked, peeking over my shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you going to study?”

“Nope.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because life is pointless and we’re all going to die. Also I already spent the whole afternoon studying.”

“You don’t _look_ like you spent the entire afternoon studying, Stiles.”

“And how would I ‘look like’ if I had studied all day, Mr. Hale?”

“Probably with a forehead wound from slamming your face against the coffee table repeatedly.”

“Oh, you know me so well.”

I put aside my 3DS and turned to him, decided to set aside the troubles of a fictional capitalist society and focus on the troubles of the real one.

Derek sat down next to me, pressing his forehead over my right shoulder. He looked very sad and very melancholic, two of the things I didn’t like to see anybody being while next to me.

I mean, I can take broody dude trying to be Batman. Actual wistful sighs are something else entirely.

“Are you okay? You look kinda…” what’s the least offensive word I can think of? “…tired.”

“Not so much physically as it’s emotionally”, he grunted against my arm.

“Did something happen? Is your director acting up again?”

I had managed to squeeze some information about the soul-sucking guy he was working with, through teeth and claw. For some reason, Derek seemed to really, really hate this guy, both as an artist and as a human being, to a point where he not even said the dude’s name out loud. When I asked why he was still working on his movie if he hated the guy so much, he was succinct in answering ‘we whore ourselves out the way we can’.

“Almost punched him in the face today. Again”, he said, moving his face away from me. “Lydia almost had a heart attack when she heard. I was expecting her to be here to lecture me.”

“You won’t get any lectures from me, that’s for sure”, I bumped into his shoulder, trying to sound comforting. “But won’t they do anything about it? You know, the Powers That Be?”

“They will. Tomorrow, actually. Someone is coming to talk to him, so we get a day off. They want to see if they can get him to step down quietly, and use some bullshit excuse like ‘creative differences’ for his departure. That’s usually what they say when someone is being a real dick.”

To say I was surprised by Derek’s language was a euphemism. Except perhaps in bed, so far he had been very polite. Kinda awkward, even. That is not to say I was not surprisingly into that other side of him.

I don’t know why I still say ‘surprisingly’. It’s clear I don’t even know what I am into anymore at this point.

“Do you wanna eat something? I mean, I mean – are you hungry? Did you have dinner already?” I asked, trying to clean my throat and my consciousness.

He stared at me for a moment like was trying to digest the information. Pun slightly intended. “I… have not, now that I think of it. I was so eager to leave the set I forgot to grab a bite on the way.”

“Oh, right. Uh. Do you want a sandwich, then? Grilled cheese, or–”

Derek stood up before I could, stretching out his arms and groaning. “Don’t worry, I can check out the menu”, he said, with a wink.

“I was actually offering to make the sandwich, y’know.”

“I figured. But now that you suggested it, I think making a sandwich will be the perfect excuse to slash something. I can always pretend a cabbage is you-know-who’s head.”

Voldemort? Oh, wait. No. Never mind. “Careful with those words, Mr. Hale”, I said, as he headed to the kitchen. “I don’t want to think you’ll turn into a Mr. Grey one day and try to use those slash-y tendencies on me.”

“Don’t worry. Knife play is on the contract, and it’s on the no-no list.”

It better fucking be.

I watched as Derek started to gather up the ingredients for his snack, scavenging his own cupboards after anything edible. It seemed to be a bit of everything, from cheese to ham to mustard to a cape as red as blood and a slipper as pure as gold. At one point I realized he was just shoving stuff in and hoping for the best.

Secretly, I was expecting it to turn out that Derek was some kind of secret chef or something – highly skilled in the culinary arts, to match his good looks and bank account numbers, as you’d have in any shitty rom-com. Except that wasn’t the case at all and the guy had troubles setting up his damn microwave.

Even Scott when he was high as a kite could still set up a microwave better than International Movie Star and Child Prodigy Derek Hale. _Incredible_.

“What’s this thing made of?” I asked, when he came back with the gruesome pieces of… let’s call it _food_ , for convenience’s sake.

“Hope and courage, mostly.”

“The two things I don’t have.”

“Just eat the damn sandwich, Stiles.”

I did, but not before making a small prayer beforehand. Turned out it wasn’t half as terrible as it looked – definitely not the worst thing I had ever tasted. Then again, I’d had that dude’s dick in my mouth just the night before, so what did I know?

Derek didn’t seem to mind it so much, because he munched it all down without so much as thinking twice of it. It was… kind of funny, actually, mostly because he ended up with a really weird mustard-moustache over his actual beard.

I could, obviously, just warn him about it.

But then where would be the fun in life?

“There’s something on your face”, I said, innocently.

“What? Where?”

“Riiiight here.”

I rubbed my hand over the dirty part, smearing the rest of the mustard over his face like the monkey from Lion King did with Simba.

He didn’t seem to please with that. “Hey! What’s this for?!” Derek whined, jumping back on his feet.

“I told you it was dirty”, I shrugged, licking my thumb clean.

“I should punish you for this, you know that, right?” he said, wiping his face on his shirt.

“What you gonna do? _Spank me_?”

I started at him. He stared at me. The corner of his lips twisted into a smile.

That was when I knew I was in trouble.

“I was kidding! Oh my God! Derek!” I shouted, but it was no use. He picked me up from the couch as if I were made of straw, throwing me over his shoulder and taking me to the bedroom – practically a caveman, but not really.

I struggled to get out, but was only freed when he put me on the bed, but even so he was still holding my legs up. “Maybe I should spank you,” he said, pulling my socks off with his teeth. “Would you be into that?”

Wow. Okay. That was quite the question. I wiggled my feet against his face, pondering the possibilities available. In one hand, not even my dad used to hit me when I was a kid; on the other, I didn’t want to associate my father with what we were doing anyway.

“Are you gonna use a belt?” I asked, my fingers reaching out to the button of his jeans. He let me undo his buckle while he pulled his zipper down.

“No, my hand”, he answered. “But I’d be gentle.”

“Wouldn’t that defeat the point of it?” I noted, letting his pants fall around his knees.

He pulled my own jeans off without a lot of ceremony, turning me around until I my face was buried on a pillow. Derek sat over the bed with me spread over his lap, and pulled down my boxers just enough so that my ass was visible, but my dick was still stranded under the black piece of fabric. I tried to adjust myself so I could free it, but he stopped me, and the first slap took me by surprise.

So did the second one.

“Your butt wiggles when I hit it”, he said. “Like it was made to get slapped.”

 _That’s one way of seeing it_ , I thought, my teeth ground shut. It… didn’t hurt. Not really. It was more like a sting. It just made me shiver.

And moan.

And make more of those noises that no good Christian boy should ever be caught making. Good thing I was never either _good_ or _Christian_.

I clutched the sheets and gasped, overwhelmed by the contact of his hand against my bare skin. When he slapped me again I found myself whimpering ‘harder’; the word leaving my mouth before I could even realize what I had said, like it had a life of its own.

My dick was wedged between Derek’s thighs, and whenever he’d hit me – long, hard slaps that branded the mark of his five fingers over my ass – the shockwave of pleasure would find its way into my cockhead, begging, pulsing for a release that wouldn’t come.

He was hard too, I could feel his bulge grinding against mine as if it was trying to rip through his boxers.

It was getting difficult to breathe, and moans clogged my throat in my desperate attempts of regaining even an inch of self-control; that was tough to do, when I was so eager to thrust my hips back to meet his touch.

When I came, I did without touching myself, soaking the front of my underwear.

I’m pretty sure I passed out for, like, at least half a second.

“I didn’t know you were so into this”, he said, when I returned to my senses.

“That makes two of us”, I groaned, slightly humiliated. I made a mention to roll out of his lap, but he ran his hand over my back, keeping me in place.

His other hand was still over my butt, massaging the reddening part. By that, of course, I mean he had started to tease the crack of my ass.

“What else isn’t your body telling you?” he asked, temptingly. That was a question I didn’t want answered.

To be honest, the possibilities even scared me.

Derek reached out for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. He had me hard again even before his fingers had reached my prostate. “Are you going to fuck me, or will you just spend the whole night playing with your food?” I complained, biting down my lower lip.

“What? Are my fingers not enough?” he joked, slipping a second one in.

I buried my face on the pillow, my toes already curling. _Don’t make me say it, please don’t make me say it…_ “No.”

“Good to know, then.”

He spun me around, so that my back was against the mattress. I was out of his lap, but not from his grip; Derek held my legs up, using his teeth to pull my boxers all the way out.

I feel like I should have been grossed out when he sniffed my underwear, but, hey – birds of a feather, right?

My toes wiggled against the sides of his face again, this time while he bending over me, until my knees were almost touching my shoulders. Derek was on top, pinning me to the bed, his dick rubbing against mine through the thin fabric of his underwear.

He wanted to fuck me. He wanted to fuck me _so badly_. I could read it, written all over his face like red ink.

It was my hand, coated with lube, that pulled down his last remaining piece of clothing and guided his dick to my ass, while Derek held me by the ankles, like he was trying to keep me from running away.

I whined when I felt the head pop in, jerking my head back and biting down my lower lip. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

All I could do was grunt a half-hearted yes.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I dug my nails on his leg, pulling him closer to me.

Guess that was the answer he needed.

Derek would thrust into me – deep, long and hard, his cock dragging against that special spot that made my eyes roll. It was the first time, I realized, we were doing it in that position; where I could stare into his eyes, our faces so close our noses almost brushed against each other.

It was like looking through a rainbow, a mixture of green and blue and grey and yellow, dancing in front of me to the beating of his heart; of his gasping, his moaning, lost among the sound of my own. I’d grab his hair and cry out his name, among so many _oh my gods_ I lost count, loud enough that the neighbors probably heard it.

His fist was closed around my dick, where I’d fuck myself – harder and harder – to the rhythm of hips slapping against mine. There was sweat, dripping from him into my chest, or maybe the other way around, as I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.

My arms were around his neck; he let my legs slip and wrap around his waist.

I could feel every inch of him, pulsing inside of me.

That’s when it happened.

Derek said my name, in barely more than a whisper, pressing his lips against mine. A kiss – sweet and gentle at first, curious, shy, uncertain; but it grew hungrier, hornier, desperate, until my nails had dug into his back and we both forgot we needed to breathe.

And I felt it. What I hadn’t felt before, with Heather – the fireworks, the head-spinning, the waves of pleasure that almost drowned my senses. I had had kisses before, but it was never…it was never something like that.

I’m pretty sure I saw stars.

I came – again – just as Derek did. He rolled over next to me, all sweaty and panting and gasping for air. I couldn’t tell which one of us looked more satisfied.

Or, y’know, more confused.

I think I passed out for a good minute (or five). Just kinda laid there, not really feeling my legs properly; blood was still pumping into my ears, like they wanted to explode.

When I opened my eyes again, it was not to find Derek at my side, in his usual post-coital dreamy state. He was actually sitting at the edge of the bed, looking like someone straight out of a Drake video clip.

“What happened? Are you okay?” I asked, crawling next to him.

“I’m sorry”, he said, with a deep sigh.

“What for?”

“I should – I shouldn’t have done it. It’s not gonna happen again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you”, Derek answered, vehemently. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was one of the few things you put in the contract, and I didn’t respect that. I crossed a line.”

“It’s alright. It’s not a big deal”, I assured, resting my chin over his shoulder.

He didn’t seem to listen. “I overstepped my boundaries. I shouldn’t – I’m sorry. I’ll understand if you don’t want to continue the deal.

“Dude, chill. I told you, it’s okay”, I insisted.

“No, it’s not. I crossed a line. I broke a term of the contract.”

“I know that. And I’m telling you it doesn’t matter.” I ruffled my hand through his hair. “I… actually… kinda liked it.”

He turned his head back just a little bit, enough to shoot me a crooked look.

“It’s just... it wasn’t that bad, that’s all”, I mumbled, blushing. “What I'm trying to say is – if you wanted to do it again, I wouldn't be opposed to the idea."

“I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with, Stiles.”

“I know.”

Shortening the distance between us, I kissed him again – a peck on the lips, I thought, until I felt his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

I had to drag myself away, otherwise I would have climbed on his lap again. Given I could still feel him leaking out of me from the last time, that wasn’t such a good idea.

Yes, I know. Disgusting.

“Can I just, like, ask you one thing?” I said, flopping back into the bed. “Like… what’s your deal?”

He frowned. “Do elaborate.”

“You know, like… you kinda freaked out about this contract thing. You also have the whole ‘daddy’ thing” – which, honestly, _understandable_ , but nonetheless – “Makes me wonder if there isn’t something else going on with you.”

Derek crawled into bed next to me, lying on his back on my side. “It’s no big deal.”

“Well, I know your family didn’t die in a fire or anything, so…” I shrugged. “You don’t need to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

“It’s alright. I guess I can tell you.”


	8. secrets and lies, handcuffs and alibis.

_** Chapter Eight. ** _

 

Derek chewed down his bottom lip, like he was trying really hard to choose the words his next words. I didn’t want to pressure him into talking, but the longer I wanted, the more curious I became.

What was it about curiosity and cats getting killed, anyway?

“You know, it took me… it took me a while to figure out my sexuality. Who I was. Why I wasn’t like all the other kids I knew”, he said, at last. “I was a teenager when it kinda hit me. And by then… by then I had met someone.”

The word _someone_ rolled out of his tongue like it was a curse word spit out by a child fearing that their parents would be nearby to punish them. My first instinct was to press myself closer to him, my head on his shoulders. “Who was it?”

“Another actor. Very famous, actually.”

“Ooh. Anyone I know?”

“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. His family is well-known in the Hollywood circle.”

“Like the Arquettes?”

“Almost. The Argents.”

Surprisingly enough, I _did_ know who the Argents were – but mostly because they were French(-ish) and were really into making indie movies. The kind of indie movies were there were coochies showing up every three scenes or so.

So, you know, my kind of movie.

“I didn’t know any of them was out of the closet.”

“He isn’t. But... we found each other, somehow. People say gaydar doesn’t exist, but I have my doubts”, he scoffed. “Anyway. We met in a movie premier. Kind of clicked immediately. He was… it was very nice, in the beginning. We were really into each other. He was older, more experienced, and was willing to teach me things I had no idea were possible. Some of these things were nice, but others…”

Derek took a deep breathe. Somehow I knew exactly what he was going to say; I felt my heart beating painfully against the back of my throat, like it was trying to break through.

I reached out for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t need to tell me, if you’re not comfortable.”

“It was a long time ago, it doesn’t really matter now,” he shrugged. “But, yeah. Some of the stuff he got me into was weird. They left me feeling uncomfortable afterwards; dirty. _Disgusted_. Mostly with myself. I didn’t always agree to do what he wanted, and when I did but want to stop he didn’t really listen, but I kept doing them anyway because… well, he loved me. Like he used to say, he was the only one that ever did. The only one that knew who I truly was. If I wasn’t there for him, how could I expect him to be there for me?”

“That – dude, that sounds a whole lot like rape. You know that, right?”

“No, no – it wasn’t – it wasn’t like that. It was never that far.”

“It does sound like it was, though. Did you ever tell anyone? Ever try to report him?”

Derek gave out a forced laugh, rolling his eyes. “Who do you think I was gonna tell? I was a closeted teenage actor trying to make a name for myself, he was seasoned, well-known and respected, with two Emmys and an Oscar nomination. If I accused him, people would think I was just trying to get some publicity out of him. All I would get was blacklisted everywhere. My career would be destroyed, while his wouldn’t even get a dent.”

“That’s…” God. I didn’t even know what words to say? Horrifying? Disgusting? Terrible? “Fucked up. That’s really fucked up.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past now. What matters to me is that I never want you to feel like you’re being forced to do something you don’t want to. The fact I’m paying you to sleep with me is already dubious enough as it is, I wouldn’t want to you feel forced into a position you are not comfortable with any further.”

I felt like there was a nod stuck in the back of my throat that I couldn’t quite swallow. I couldn’t even bring myself to _imagine_ the kind of thing Derek had gone through. It was just…

 _Jesus_.

I had to bite down my tongue, to keep myself from saying anything inappropriate. I didn’t want to make him feel any worse than he probably already did. “Trust me, if you ever tried anything I don’t like, I will just kick your teeth in.”

“That sounds like a good plan”, he laughed – for real, this time. “But I’m serious, Stiles, if I ever–”

“I’m serious, too”, I cut him short, pressing my lips against his. “Also about the kissing. I don’t mind it, every once in a while.”

“I still feel like I should compensate you, somehow”, he insisted. “With money, or – or something else.”

“I’m sure we can work _something_ out.”

 

* * * * *

 

We did.

It took me a while, though, to figure out something that would be good enough for the both of us – and, more importantly, something that would be fun for me.

I mean, obviously the money would be very much welcome, but it’s not every day you get this kind of free pass.

It was a good thing that Derek had the next day off because of the shooting, as I could use the free-time to put my plan in motion. All I needed was a set of ropes and as little clothes as possible. In light of recent discoveries, I triple-checked with Derek to make sure he was cool with it, and he was. Maybe even a little bit too much. A little bit too eager.

Not that I was complaining.

My plan involved tying Derek naked to his bed, and edging him until I could see how long before he was literally begging me to let him come. I saw it being done in a porno once. I’m pretty sure there’s an entire subsection of porn dedicated to this kind of thing, actually.

I loved the idea, just not done in me. Now I would actually get to try it out.

I tried to make the knots as tight as possible, but I was pretty sure Derek could still slip out of them if he wanted to. He didn’t, though; he laid there and let me play with him for as long as I wanted, which in turn would be for most of the morning.

The process started slowly at first. A massage to get him riled up; playing with his nipples until he was panting; handjobs until I could feel his cock swelling between my fingers, ready to burst. When he was getting too close to the point of no-return, I would stop, maybe leave the room, drink some water, see what was going on TV, until I was sure he was soft again.

I would take him into my mouth, letting him grow over my tongue, until Derek was all but bulking his hips against my face; he would not say it, but the noises he made left pretty clear how desperately he wanted me to let him finish off.

Not just yet, though.

He’d whimper my name softly when I’d let his dick slip out of my mouth, his toes all curled up. I’d tease his balls, even play with his ass a little, just to see how long before he started to squirm.

And that was just the first couple of hours.

The further we went on, the bolder I became; I’d mount his lap, letting his dick rub against my ass, all slick and wet with pre-cum. With my hands planted on his sweaty, hairy chest, I’d lower myself into him, inch by boring inch, until I felt the tip of his cock brushing against that magic spot.

I admit, the more we did that, the harder it was not to finish him off – but I braved on nonetheless.

 My hips rolled against his, in slow and deep thrusts that made Derek gasp against my mouth, my teeth scrapping against his bottom lip.

“Do you wanna come?” I asked, temptingly.

He nodded fervently.

“Do you _really_ want to come?” I insisted. I could feel his cock growing inside of me.

“ _Yes_ ”, he hissed, through gritted teeth.

“Well…sucks to be you, then”, I joked, as I moved out from on top of him.

“What?” he groaned, pushing his hips up as if he was still inside of me. “Come on, Stiles, this is not fair!”

“Sucks to be you. Is there something to eat in the fridge?”

“Are you kidding me? Stiles! STILES!”

But by then I had already left. I figured after doing that four times other times, Derek would be used to it, but eh.

I knew the knots were loose enough that he could get himself out and finish it off if he wanted to, but I also knew Derek wasn’t gonna do that. He was enjoying it as much as I was, that was for sure.

I think focusing on my desperately he wanted to shoot his load was keeping his head always from any other thoughts – especially after our chat the night before. I knew he’d said he was okay, but I still didn’t want him to think about anything from his past; especially since I had barely managed to keep myself from thinking about it for the rest of the night, and not even the warmth of Derek’s arm wrapped around me was enough to make me fall asleep.

I was mostly angry – that Derek had to go through everything alone, and that someone had done that to him in the first place. What kind of sick, twisted freak, honestly?

More importantly, I never wanted Derek to be in that kind of situation again. I wanted him to have fun; which I know he was, even if he was cursing my name from the other room.

“I hate you”, he groaned, when I came back to the room, his dick still painfully hard. “I really do.”

“Whatever you say, big guy”, I scoffed, eating up the rest of my Klondike bar. I stopped at the doorway of the room, admiring the sight of naked Derek sprawled over his bed with a red-and-throbbing dick and his hands tied to the sides of the bed. “I wish I could immortalize this on a picture, y’know.”

“Oh yeah, that would be _fantastic_ ”, he said, grumpily.

“TMZ would have a field day, too”, I added, crawling back in bed with him.

“Sad closeted queer extraordinaire Derek Hale, who also likes BDSM. That would be front page for weeks.”

“ _Sad_?” I repeated, with a frown. I sat back on top of him, my hands around his neck. “Are you sad?”

“No right not”, he said, kissing the curve of my neck, the tip of his nose nibbling against my earlobe. “Not with you.”

“Good.”

He kissed down my chin and my Adam’s apple, sucking on my collarbones until he left a mark. I ran my fingers over his hair and guided him down, sparks running up my spine as I felt his tongue teasing my nipples.

His nose brushed against my skin like he was trying to inhale my scent, the mix of sweat and desperate horniness that seemed to flow from me to him. It kinda tickled.

“I want to suck you off”, he said, licking his lips.

Honestly, how could I say no?

My knees almost bucked in when I felt my dick slip inside his mouth. It was warm and welcoming and I was so horny – _God, so horny_ – I could barely control my urge to impale my cock down his throat.

And even with his hands tied up, Derek knew how to control the situation. He worked his tongue across the length of my shaft, from the base all the way to that little spot under the crown that made my eyes water.

I would look down on him, his nose buried in my crotch, hair all messy and eyes closed, and it honestly felt like the most erotic thing I’d ever seen in my life.

 I tried to warn him when I was about to cum, but all I managed to let out where half-grunted attempts at his name that slipped out of my throat like unholy prayers. My legs could barely keep me standing afterwards, and I fell back on his lap.

“That was amazing”, I said, trying to regain my breath.

He gave me a cheeky smile. “Glad you enjoyed it. How about you return the favor?”

“Is that what this is about?” I squinted, wrapping my hands around his neck. He bent his legs so I wouldn’t escape his lap.

Like that was a thing I wanted to do.

Derek winced as I guided his dick into me; he was so sensitive I could swear he was gonna bust with the simple brush of his dick against my ass. I pulled his hair back,  his eyes locked on mine as I fucked myself down on his cock, so that I could savor every little expression crossing his face while I grinded back and forth against him.

God. _God_. He was so beautiful. I could stare into his eyes forever.

I felt his arms wrapping around me – I knew those knots were loose – pulling me closer to him; nails digging deep into my skin, scratching it until it turned red. His thrusts were meeting mine half-way, and the sound of skin slapping against skin was making me get hard again; my cock rubbed down against his chest whenever I moved back and forth on his.

When Derek kissed me, I could taste my own cum all over his tongue. “Stiles – _please_ –” he begged, and this time I couldn’t say no.

He left a loud, guttural groan that travelled to my core. I could Derek twitching inside of me as he came, shot after shot for what felt like forever. I think I came, too, but my mind was in a haze.

I think I forgot how to breathe for a second.

“Wow”, I heard him whisper, sometime after. I don’t even know how long.

“Yeah”, I said, resting my head on his chest.

“That was…”

“ _Yeah_.”

“That totally means we should do it again, right?”

I laughed. “Do you even have to ask?”

 

* * * * *

 

I left Derek’s place a little after lunchtime. He ordered takeout – I wasn’t _really_ into eating that Frankenstein sandwich of the other day – and we watched a little bit of Netflix before I realized it was time to go back to place.

I would probably come back later that day, depending on whether or not Derek was willing to spend five more hours tied up – though I’d probably have to make more complicated knots this time around.

When I arrived in the apartment, the first thing I saw was a _very_ naked Scott McCall sprawled on the couch, snoring like a motherfucker. My first thought was _don’t look at his dick, don’t look at his dick, don’t look at his dick_ , which was weird; I’d seen that floppy piece of meat dozens of times before.

I guess things were different now.

He woke up as soon as I closed the door. “Dude, where have you been?” he asked, scratching his eyes.

“I was…” shit. Fuck. What was I supposed to say? ‘Working’ again? There was just so often I could use that excuse before he started to think my (ex) boss had become a slave master. Besides, my hair was clean and wet, and the only useful fluid in Brett’s Burgers is the boiling oil that we so often wish we could bath in and end our misery. “I was… uh…”

“Were you with someone?” Scott asked, jumping on his feet.

“Maybe?” I answered, in a panic response. _Fuck_. Wrong answer.

“Who was it? Was it Heather?” he insisted, stepping in closer.

 _Don’t look at his dick. Don’t look at his dick. Don’t…_ damn it. “Maybe?” I evaded again, trying to look the other way.

“Dude, nice! You should have told me!”

“Yeah. Why – why are you naked?” I asked, with a grimace.

“Oh, Kira was over. You just missed her.”

“God, were you two doing it in the couch again?”

Better yet, was there somewhere in this house where his fluids had not been spread over?

“Don’t worry, dude, we used protection”, Scott assured, heading over to his bedroom.

“Your bare ass was still all over the place, though!”

He shrugged, with a smirk. “So, when you gonna meet Heather again?”

“Don’t know, yet. Maybe next week.” Now that I recalled it, we _had_ agreed to meet again, hadn’t we?

“ _Nice_! I want all the dirty details! All of them!”

“Y’know I’m never gonna tell you anything, right? Scott? Right?!”

I shouted, but the door of his room was already locked. All I got to see was his bubbly butt going away from me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on the new chapter! Sometimes life gets in the way. :(


	9. sunday morning blues.

_** Chapter Nine. ** _

 

I woke up to the loud sound of my alarm clock beeping, warning me I had a brand new notification. it was, much to my surprise, from Derek; telling me that he wouldn’t be around, since he was called for a meeting with the developers of his movie, to discuss the situation with his director. He probably wouldn’t be around for the rest of the day.

I got the feeling that it was Derek’s subtle way of telling me I should chill at home for a while. After all, what was the point of whoring myself out for money to pay for my apartment, if I wasn’t going to spend any actual time on it?

The funny thing was that, attached to the message was a picture of Derek, with a little frown-y/pouty face. I guess the whole thing about ‘no pictures’ was also out of the wind.

He looked cute, though. Actually, really adorable. I could definitely see how people all over the world would lose their shits just to the sight of him.

I don’t know if it was because I was staring at that dumb picture of him, or if it was because I already had a morning woody, but either way, I got horny. Horny in that awful way that makes your dick ache for release.

Feeling myself over the thin cotton fabric of my boxers brought some relief, but not the kind that I needed. Certainly not the kind I got with Derek.

 _Oh God_. I knew exactly what I needed.

My underwear was on the floor just as fast as I had my hands on the bottle of lube hidden under the bed for situations like this (as well as a pack of condoms, though… these had not been as used, sadly). The liquid was warm and it smelled kinda funny, but in a good way; coating my fingers, it made sliding the first digit in my ass easier – though it sure as hell still stung like a bitch.

But it also felt _so good_.

I laid back, eyes closed, working on my shaft while fingering myself; slowly at first, ‘til I could get to that right spot. My back arched when I pushed a second finger in, deeper and faster, Derek’s name rolling out of my tongue almost unconsciously. I missed him. I _needed_ him.

His taste was still lingering in my mouth, the feeling of his skin brushing against mine; the way he grinded his body against mine, his teeth scrapping the soft skin of my neck, tracing the shape of my collarbones. His cock felt so nice inside of me, the way two – three – fingers just couldn’t.

Moaning, groaning, rocking myself back and forth on my own hands, my mind had gone almost completely blank. All I could think of was how much I wanted Derek to be inside of me.

My toes curled when I came, cum shooting out of me like a goddamn fountain. It splashed all over my face and chest and I’m pretty sure some of it even got to the ceiling.

When the post-orgasm haze settled in and my muscles unclenched, I considered sending back a picture of my cum-soaked state to Derek with a “thinking of you ;)” attached to it, but I wasn’t entirely sure he’d be cool with it. Or if someone could accidentally see it. It was best not to take the risk.

Still damn tempting, though.

 _Maybe if he had Snapchat_ , I considered, picking my phone again, but I was pretty sure Derek didn’t know what Snapchat was. I wasn’t even entirely sure he understood what Twitter was. Then again, neither did most people that used it.

As I unlocked the screen, I noticed there was a notification I hadn’t noticed before. From the app of my bank. My first paycheck had been deposited and I had noticed.

 

* * * * *

 

“Oh, yeah, Derek asked me to add a bonus to it”, Lydia said, on the other side of the line, still chewing on her bagel.

“Is that what he calls a bonus? Lyd, that’s too much money!” I almost shouted. Needless to say, my post-orgasmic experience had been abruptly interrupted when I noticed the amount of numbers on my bank account. There was considerably more than we had agreed on, especially considering a good chunk of it had been already removed to pay the landlord.

Derek was not fucking around with money. Jesus.

“Then you should just enjoy it”, she said, in a mouthful.

“It’s too much money! I told Derek I didn’t want any bonuses.”

“He clearly didn’t listen. You should give him a ‘strong word’ tomorrow, or after lunch, when his meeting is done.”

“What? He told me his meeting was gonna last all day.”

“Oh…oh, yeah, yeah. Yeah. That’s right,” she stuttered, and I didn’t even need to see her face to know she was sweating her ass off. “He’s gonna be busy all day long. Talk to him tomorrow.” She was lying, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that, but I had bigger things to worry about at that moment. “But are – are you gonna turn it down? The money?”

“I… I don’t know”, was all I could answer, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. I mean, _dude_ ; that was a _buckload_ of money. Money that I could spend on like…a lot of stuff. Money that I had worked my ass off to get, both literal and figuratively. I deserved that money, right?

Still felt like cheating, somehow.

“Maybe you should take this as an opportunity to buy yourself some underwear without holes in them”, she joked, quick to change the subject. I would have laughed, if it wasn’t for the fact that only a handful of mine were still intact.

“Shut up, that was a long time ago”, I groaned. “And – and I already know what I’m gonna spend my money on. Don’t worry.”

“Well then, don’t let li’l old me get in your way”, she said, before hanging up.

I wished I could’ve told her to shove it before she was gone.

 

* * * * *

 

The concept of having money was new and bewildering to me. _This much_ money, I mean. Not that I was ever piss-poor or anything, but my family had their moments when we had to tighten up every once in a while – especially during mom’s cancer scare a couple of years back.

It was a real hard time for all of us; but, obviously, especially for mom. Claudia Stilinski was a tough nut, but even she cracked under the weight of all those doctor visits and chemo and body changes.

She’s all better now, of course, but I know…I know she’s still haunted by it. She still worries that someday the decease will show up again, swipe by and take her away. We all do.

It was also a heavy blow to us financially, which was why I was struggling in college to begin with – the reserves my parents had saved up for me to go to college were almost entirely drained to pay for the treatment, because the US health system is a bizarre dystopia in on itself, and capitalism is its Capitol.

I transferred some of my money to dad’s account, to help out in whatever they needed. I knew it would mean he’d start making questions regarding the origins of the money, but if anything, I’d just say I had started cooking meth in some science teacher’s basement. He’d probably just laugh it off, but on the odd chance I was dealing drugs, he’d leave it as it was.

As I said before, ignorance is bliss.

The rest of the money, I’d save up for my tuition, which would leave me with just enough to, well, let’s say…have fun with it. And that was exactly what I intended to do.

“Hey dude”, I called out, pushing the door of Scott’s room open. He took his eyes off his laptop enough to see me waving my credit card at him. “You wanna go shopping?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter update just to say that I have not given up on the story! But, y'know, loads of things happening, it's hard to keep up. There's more yet to come, though ;)


	10. toy-ing the lines.

_** Chapter Ten. ** _

 

I put the money I received from my first week to very good use.

First things first, obviously, I fixed up my jeep – the poor thing had been begging for it for a long time. I mean, there is just so much duct tape can hold together, right?

I also bought some cool new clothes. Nothing to risqué, I’m afraid to say; mostly because Scott had tagged along with me when I went to the store, and it would be kind of hard to explain why I was considering buying a pair of see-through lacy underwear. I did buy a pair of boxers decorated like the face of an elephant though – you know the kind, with a socket-thingy on the front that makes it look like a trunk?

I told him I was buying it ‘ironically’, but… I wasn’t. I really wasn’t.

If Derek was the one to use it, he’d probably have to fold his dick to fit it in or something. Maybe I could get him to do that. It would definitely be worth seeing.

Speaking of Derek, I was trying to play it cool, but I had to admit I was really looking forward to seeing him again. It’s stupid, it’s stupid, I know; it’s been, what, a day? Less? Gosh. I needed to chill. Like, take a cold bath, or twelve. I had no idea why it was being so hard to keep my horniness in check, but it was.

I guess it’s because not even when I had girlfriends – like actual, regular girlfriends, and not the ones you make up to your mom to explain why you got pictures of them on your computer – I got laid so often. We had, y’know, days when we could do it or not. Certainly not every day of the week, sometimes more than once a day.

My ass was getting kinda sore, but nothing that could stop it from a good smashing.

God, I can’t believe I just thought that.

That’s what thinking with your lower head does to you.

Derek sent me a winking emoji on Monday morning, which I assumed meant I could/should stop buy late that evening. Needless to say, it was hard to keep people from seeing I had a raging boner for the rest of the day.

It was hard not to show I was hard, if you get the irony in that.

“Hello there, Mr. Hale”, I said, leaning against the door seductively. Trying to, anyway.

Derek looked me up and down, with a crooked smile. “Well now, you’re not the plumbed I asked for.”

“Can still work that snake well, though.”

I could physically feel my face burning up as the words rolled out of my mouth. Derek burst up a laugh. “You sure can.”

My arms were around his neck, pulling him into a kiss even before Derek had time to close the door. To say I was eager would be an understatement; I pushed him towards the couch, clothes hitting the floor before he could register I had taken them off. He smelled fresh and clean, like he’d just taken a bath.

I couldn’t wait to get him all dirty again.

I think he could feel that, ‘cos he held me back before I could climb on him. “ _Someone’s_ horny today.”

“It’s been two days, hasn’t it? I figured you’d be, too.”

“Yesterday was a full day for me”, he said, as I helped him undo his belt. “You know, meeting all day. Didn’t even have time to think about anything else.”

“I thought Lydia said the meeting was over at noon.”

“Y-Yeah, it did. It was. But I – I had lots of other things to take care off.”

You know, for a dude who gets awards for being a professional liar, Derek sure was sucky at it (and not in a good way). I knew he – and Lydia – were hiding something from me; it wasn’t like they made an effort of being subtle. To be honest, though, I didn’t particularly care what it was, one way or another. I wasn’t being paid to care.

I mean, Derek’s got his secrets. He was a private guy. It was none of my business what he chose to do when he weren’t in bed together. Wasn’t I one of his secret as it was?

“Guess it’s my turn to take care of your things, then”, I suggested, reaching inside his underwear. He stopped me again, though.

“Are you…really that horny, or are you just trying to please me?” he asked, fishing my hand out.

“Isn’t that kind of my _job_?”

“Yeah. But are you doing this just because you want to get another bonus?”

Shit. I hadn’t even thought about the bonus. I guess I was just focused on seeing Derek again. Weird.

But now that he mentioned it…

“Whoever said we couldn’t mix pleasure and business?” I laughed, pinning him down on the couch.

“If that’s the case, we have to make this last today, because I won’t have time tomorrow”, he said, hooking his fingers on the waistband of my underwear.

It was my turn to stop him on tracks. “What, _really_?”

“Yeah. Re-shootings. A pain in the ass.”

“But not the good kind”, I consented, deflected.

He bit down his lower lip for a moment, and I could see an idea flash behind those kaleidoscope eyes of his. “Well….if you feel like you’re gonna be lonely, I may have…something to help out.”

I stared at him blankly for a second. “Elaborate.”

“Okay, hold on.”

Derek pushed me aside, sprinting for the bedroom. What in the fifty shades of hell was he up to? I had no idea. All I knew was that I could hear a whole lot of shuffling around, moving stuff. He seemed to be scavenging his wardrobe for something.

Was that the moment I’d discover this dude was actually a Patrick Bateman wannabe in disguise? Did he have a chainsaw hidden there? Would he let me get dressed first? I don’t want to be found dead naked on some dude’s apartment. I have a reputation to uphold.

I mean, it’s not a good reputation, but it’s a reputation nonetheless.

He didn’t come back holding an axe, though. He came back with a cardboard box.

It dawned on me what it was before he even showed me the content.

“That’s not fair, you didn’t mention you had _these_!” I whined, fishing out a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs from inside.

“It would be harder to get out of them if I needed to.”

“What? My knots could hold you if I wanted them to.”

No, they couldn’t. We both knew that.

Derek’s box had a lot of other stuff. Wait, lemme reiterate: it had a lot of other _kinky_ stuff. Vibrators, dildos of different sizes, butt plugs, lube, flavored condoms, penis rings, beads, a chocker, a fleshlight, and something that worrisomely looked like it had spikes in it… and that was the stuff I knew the name of. I didn’t want to ask what the other stuff was. I wasn’t ready to go there yet.

“Since when do you have all of this stuff?” I asked, picking up one of the dildos. The smallest one was about the size of my dick, which…I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about it.

“You know I’ve been single for a long time, right?”

“Yeah, but _still_ …”

“I didn’t know Lydia was gonna hire you, shut up.”

He snatched it out of my hand, so I’d stop shaking it around. It was very elastic, I’d give it that.

“So, you…wanna try them out?” Derek asked, putting it back in the box. “So, you know, when I’m not around you can…”

“I get the picture. In a lot more details than you can imagine.”

I wasn’t so sure I wanted to try some of these out, though. I mean, they looked like they’d be very different from the ‘real thing’ – besides, while I’m sure some people enjoy it, it wasn’t just about having something inside of me. It was about having _Derek_ inside of me. It’s a very distinct feeling.

He was pouting and giving me those unfairly beautiful puppy dog eyes, though, so how could I possibly say no?

“Alright, fine. We can try some stuff out. But let’s take the beads and the ring out of the equation, a’ight? ‘Cos that’s just not gonna happen.”

“Fair enough. Although I’ve always wanted to see what was like to pull the beads out like you’re turning on a chainsaw.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Just kidding! Just kidding.”

He better be kidding or he would know first-hand what it was like to be castrated.

To get back in the mood – and, to be fair, we really needed to – Derek offered me a hit of his poppers. With all that stuff stored, I finally understood why he even needed the poppers to begin with.

I was on my back, on the couch, making out with him as his fingers played around with my nipples. It was good and strong and intense, and his kisses made me feel light-headed, but not in a bad way – never in a bad way. The contact of his skin against mine made me feverish, a reminder of why I had missed him so much the last two days; I think he knew that. I could see something, maybe understanding, in his face when we broke our kiss the last time.

But then he went down on me and I forgot I had missed for minute, ‘cause it felt like our bodies had never been apart.

He worshipped the space between my legs, kissing my thighs and tracing with his tongue, from the tip of my dick all the way to the base. I contained my moaning, my aching for more than just the tease of his touch, knowing he had just started.

I wanted to feel the warmth of his mouth, hear the sounds he made when my cockhead reached the back of his throat. As always, Derek had other plans.

Derek replaced his mouth with his hand, now coated with something icy that somehow burned and chilled me up at the same time. “Lube”, he said, as I tried to wriggle my way out of his touch, my senses quickly overloaded.

 _Oh my God_ , was all I could think of, ignoring the irony of only claiming the Lord in my most sinful moments; the voice in my head grew louder and louder as I felt him replace his hand with the entrance of the fleshlight.

The velvet feeling that engulfed my dick made me see stars.

My nails dug into the couch, almost ripping off the cushions Lydia had so carefully picked out; toes curled; eyes rolling back into their sockets. He worked his grip, slowly, taunting me – one hand holding out the fleshlight, while the other found its way between my buttcheeks.

If I could find my voice, I would have spit out a string of curses as I felt him applying the lube all the way into my prostate, in a back and forth that made my entire body shiver; every hair on my body raised up.

At some point my brain registered he had replaced his long, _God so long_ fingers with one of the dildos, the one more like his own, but any rational part of me was gone by then. I was moaning, whimpering, arching and trusting, fucking myself up and down without knowing what part of me was craving pleasure more.

Derek had me writhing under his thumb, literal and figuratively.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I knew, if not before, then by that time the neighbors had a pretty good idea what was happening. I couldn’t keep quiet, even if I wanted to – my lips were raw from biting down, trying to hold in the avalanche of words pouring out of me, thoughts I had no idea what most of them even meant.

He leaned forward and kissed me, brushing his nose against mine. “Do you want the real deal?” Derek asked, barely louder than a whisper.

I nodded, but crossed my legs when he made the mention of pulling the dildo out.

When he gave me a strange look, all I managed to say was “keep it in”.

It took him a heart-beat to understand what I meant. “Stiles, that’s… I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

“We can still try.”

“It’s gonna hurt like hell.”

“I know”, I insisted.

But I _didn’t_ know – and in my adrenaline-induced excitement, honestly, I didn’t stop to think; all I knew was that I wanted him, all of him, all of that.

“We stop if it hurts you, okay?” Derek pleaded. I swallowed dry and threw my hands around his neck, as he maneuvered himself inside of me.

It didn’t _hurt_ , like he said; it was….much, much more intense than that. Maybe, yes, there was pain. A splitting, brutal, heart-wrecking pain, as if my entire body was being torn into two; but it was drowned out by wave after wave of powerful, blinding pleasure, coming from a mix of another hit of the poppers, the cold fire of the lube and the feeling of having Derek wrapping his lips around my extra-sensitive skin until I was covered in purple marks.

I felt stuffed. I felt full. In more ways than one.

Derek grinded his hips against mine, while I took control of the fleshlight. We went in long, drawn-out trusts, so we could savor every second, edging it out as long as we could.

If I could, I would have made it last forever – but all good things must come to mind-blowing orgasms, so that’s what we did.

He fell on top of me, breathing hard and sweating buckets, but with a smile on his face. I had the same one, but mine was considerably sorer than his.

“That was…intense”, he said, resting his head on the curve of my neck.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“You okay, though? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m gonna be walking funny for a day or two, but nothing I can’t handle”, I assured him. A surprisingly accurate statement, given my last two weeks.

“You know, I never thought we’d end up using any of this stuff any time soon”, he said, resting his chin on my chest. “Or at all, for that matter.”

“But you _wanted_ to use them?”

“Can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind. I mean, you _did_ look very good getting tag-teamed just now.”

“Stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

“More like a rock-hard place.”

I snorted. I certainly was rock-hard through the entire thing.

“So, Mr. Boss-man, sir, what item of your magic box would you like to try on next?” I asked, reaching out for the box over the coffee table. I fished out what looked like rubber tube. I had no idea what it was, but at least it didn’t have any weird bumps in it.

Derek’s nose twitched as he thought for a moment. “There’s a couple of things I’d like to try out. How about we start with this in the bedroom and go from there?”

He shook the fluffy handcuffs in front of me, and I can tell you, I was already regretting my decision.

 

* * * * *

 

When I woke up the next morning, it felt like somebody had legitimately ran me over with a truck. There were a lot of places aching, a lot of places sore, and when I looked myself in the bathroom mirror, it looked like I had been bitten my giant-sized mosquitoes.

And honestly… I didn’t regret a moment of it.

The only bummer was the fact that I didn’t wake up with Derek next to me. I had the vague memory of him waking up before the sun had come out, muttering something about being late for work; he had given me a little peck on the lips while he put his shoes on, which I thought was kinda gross, because my mouth was mix of dried cum and morning breathe – not exactly a sexy combination.

But then I had drifted back to sleep, which was no less than what I deserved.

However, with Derek gone and the alarm clock chirping, it meant it was time to wake up and face the real world outside of that apartment. Responsibility, school, tests all that awful grown-up stuff. Hardly my favorite activity, but it wasn’t like I had any other choice.

It was while I was having breakfast, though, that I noticed that Derek was gone, but that he had left a little gift behind for me – a very strange one at that. It was sitting perfectly still on the table, a black little thing shaped like a bullet with a flared end that I could only assume was a buttplug.

There was a note from Derek underneath it. All it said was “please, wear it today.”

Not ominous at all, right?

(But it wasn’t like I could say no to him. I mean….I could. I just didn’t want to.)

 


	11. feelin' the buzz.

_**Chapter Eleven.** _

 

You know, looking back at it, I should have figured there was something strange with Derek’s request - but in my pure, innocent, naivety, I thought he was just trying to be kinky.

He was. Just not in the way I had imagined.

Despite my best judgment, I wore the plug while I went to college. It was uncomfortable to walk with it in, but I was in a hurry – while shoving food down my gullet during breakfast, I forgot the time, and more importantly, forgot my test in 40 minutes – so I tried not to pay attention to it. My only real worry was that it would be visible through my shorts; now that would be hard to explain.

When I walked in, Professor Harris glared at me, an eyebrow raised. I felt my knees buckle in as I climbed my way up to my seat on the back of the class, knowing that, if he could, he would have smitten me on the spot.

Kira wasn’t giving me the best of looks, either.

“Where were you?” she asked, in a hushed voice. I was about to come up with a lie, but Harris cleaned his throat, demanding us to pay attention to him. He doesn’t take very kindly of people interrupting while he tries to explain the test, I’d say.

I tried to focus on whatever it was he was trying to say, focusing on his skinny, languish figure standing there on the other end of the class. He kinda looked like me, in a sad, I-have-given-up way. Was that what I was supposed to look like in the future? A washed up, middle-aged guy whose hair was half going bald, half going gray, stuck in an endless daily loop of doing the same thing over and over and over again? A teacher, an accountant, a manager, a secretary...whatever it was I had waiting for me, was it really what I wanted to do?

I didn’t have the time to answer my internal questions, as he started the test and I had 20 real ones to deal with.

The good thing was that I wasn’t like, a terrible student or anything, so I could handle most of the stuff in the paper – and what I couldn't, I could just bullshit my way out of, like I had been doing with most other tests since elementary school.

That was, if someone hadn’t decided to throw a curveball my way.

And by someone, I mean obviously Derek.

With three or two questions left for me to answer, I felt my cellphone shaking. Since I only have like three friends, and one of them was sitting next to me, if someone was calling me, it was probably important, right? So I decided to take a peak.

“D. H. has sent you a request”, the little message read. Not a call. I don't think it was even a Facebook request; I certainly didn’t recognize the little bee icon next to the name. But D.H. could only mean Derek, right? Or maybe David Hardley, but I haven’t spoken to that guy since he stole my Exodia cards in fifth grade. Could really only be Derek.

So I clicked ‘accept’. That, I can tell you, was my mistake.

It took about ten seconds for it to start. I didn’t even realize what was happening at first; it was very slow, very progressive, and it completely took me by surprise.

Turned out the butt plug Derek had asked me to wear wasn’t a butt plug at all.

It was one of those remote-controlled vibrators.

I tried to make it stop, but apparently only Derek could do it. Motherfucker. I felt the thing squirming inside of me, like it was following the rhythm of Bohemian Rhapsody. It kept sending spikes after spike of pleasure all the way up the back of my neck every time it hit my prostate, and every hair on my body was up.

My nipples felt like they were trying to dig holes on my shirt.

“Are you okay?” Kira asked, tapping me on the ribs with her pen. I nodded, eyes closed and teeth gritted shut. Son of a bitch. Did he really have to do that right now? Right now? My dick was so hard it was leaving a wet spot on my underwear. I was holding on to the sides of my desk, fearing whatever would come out of my mouth if I dared to open it.

 _I’m gonna kill Derek. I swear to God. I swear to every god in existence_ , I thought to myself. I couldn't even hold a pen straight.

I had to get out before something truly, unforgivably embarrassing happened.

Or worse, if it happened and someone put it on the internet.

“H-here”, I managed to spit out, handing in the unfinished test. Though my legs were sure to betray me at any moment, I managed to run down the stairs faster than Sonic the Hedgehog, give him my test and bolt out of the classroom. Didn’t even have time to see what brand new disgruntled face he had made at me.

I figured I would have enough time to do that when he failed me.

I was lucky enough there was a restroom at the end of the corridor – better yet, one with high enough stalls and locks on the doors. I was dealing Derek’s number with one hand and unfastening my belt with the other.

“Took you long enough”, he said, in a voice that could only be described as boastful.

“I hate you”, I whimpered back.

“Bet you do. Did you like my little surprise?”

“Fuck you, Derek.”

“Maybe later. Did you take it out yet?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

His question took me by surprise. I was sitting in a toilet, had my pants around my ankles, a leaking dick in one hand, and a vibrating dildo inside of me. Derek’s voice was just making me harder.

“Well, it’s not like it’s as good as the _real deal_ , y’know..."

“I got the real deal right here for you”, he said, and it felt like he was whispering that against my ear. The vibrating slowed down, like he was trying to tease me. "You want it so bad, don’t you?”

All I could do was moan. God, couldn’t he make the damn thing go faster?

“Tell me what you want”, he demanded.

“You. I want you.”

“How bad?”

“So bad. So bad. Derek, please.”

“Say my name again.”

“Derek. Oh God, Derek.”

I was so close – _so close_ – my hand could barely keep up. He kept making it go faster and slower, faster and slower, like he kept trying to push me closer to the edge but always pulling me back at the last second. My dick was raw, and aching for it; for the sound of his voice, that seemed to set every atom of my body on fire.

“You can’t wait, can you? You just need dick right now. You just want me to fuck you, like you never got fucked before.”

“Oh fuck, yes.”

“Just close your eyes and imagine”, he whispered, making me shiver in anticipation. “I’m gonna pin you down on the bed tonight, and I’m gonna push it all the way to the hilt, just the way you like it. Is that what you want?”

“Yeah, all the way in.”

“I'm gonna give it to you, nice and slow. Is that how you want it?”

“Faster. Please, faster”, I begged, trusting my hips into my hand.

“Is that what you want? Want me to fuck the cum out of you?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Say it. Say it.”

“Yes, oh God. Derek, yes!”

With one final trust, I came, like a goddamn fountain. It shot all over my face, my shirt, some of it even hit the ceiling. I could see stars blinking on the corners of my eyes.

Derek was breathing hard on the other end of the line.

“You know”, he said, catching his breath. “I think I’m gonna try and leave a little earlier today.”

“I’ll make sure to be waiting for you there, then”, I laughed. “Make sure you keep your promise.”

“Like I don’t ever. Wait – hold on. The make-up guy is here. I have to go.”

“Could you at least turn off the damn vibrator?”

I could hear him laughing, before hanging up. At least he did turn it off. I pulled it out, just to make sure it wouldn't happen again.

At that moment, I thought the most embarrassing thing I could do in my life was wipe myself clean after having a wank in a public bathroom, trying to get cum out of my hair and shirt; that was, of course, until I stepped out of cubicle to wash my hands, when I realized I wasn’t even alone in the damn place.

There was another dude standing by the sink, and judging by the grin he shot me, he had heard everything I had just done to myself & the little rest of integrity I had.

“That dude Derek is giving you good, huh?” he said, grabbing his crotch. I swallowed dry and kept my eyes looking forward, while trying to wash my hands as fast as possible. How could I have not locked the door before I went in? Or at least, I don’t know, kept my voice down?

It didn't even occur to me. Shit. And now that guy was hitting on me. Maybe he was around the restroom exactly waiting for an opportunity like this.

I know what happens in public restrooms. Cruising, or whatever they call it. I know how it was. When I was a kid, I accidentally watched an episode of Queer as Folk, you know. That one where Justin bangs the guy in the art gallery. Mom only noticed what I was watching when I asked her if we got could to a museum one of these days.

That should have been a clue.

“You know, one of them days, if he isn’t, you can hit me up”, he continued, running the tip of his tongue over his upper teeth. “I'm always around.”

“S-Sure”, was all I managed to mutter, before bolting out of there as fast as my legs would allow.

Have I mentioned I hate Derek Hale?

 

* * * * *

 

The first thing I did was punch Derek, as soon as he came through the door.

Not in the face, obviously, but on the arm. With the right amount of strength to hurt. _Me_ , in the case, since he was apparently made of fucking steel.

“That wasn’t very funny, you know!” I groaned out.

“Really? I thought it was hilarious”, he laughed, plopping out in the couch. “And hot, too.”

“It _was_. But it was dangerous, too! Someone actually _heard_ us, for starters.”

His eyebrow went up. “They did? Did – did they –”

“No, the guy didn’t figure out it was you. You aren't the _only_ Derek in town”, I rolled eyes, sitting next to him. “But he _did_ hit on me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. He was like ‘if this Derek guy ain’t giving you good, call me’ or something.” What? I’m paraphrasing here.

“Hmm. And are you going to?”

“Going to what?”

“Call him.”

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Duh, ‘cause I’m not –”

I was going to say ‘‘cause I’m not gay’, but it dawned on me I couldn’t keep using that as an excuse for longer. I mean, yes, I’m not gay... but I’m not exactly spearhead of the straight community either. It’s like Lydia said, with the confusing pie/cake metaphor. I couldn’t keep telling myself I didn’t like cake when I had just had phone sex with a particularly tasty piece of one and still sound true to my own feelings.

Truth was, I didn’t even _encourage_ the thought of having anything with that guy, not because I wasn’t into cake – he just wasn’t the slice I wanted in my mouth.

“‘Cause I wasn’t in the mood, that's all”, I rectified. “There's just so much pumping a dick can take, you know.”

Derek snorted. "You should've at least gotten his phone number. For the days I can’t keep up with you.”

“Yeah, right”, I scoffed, resting my head on his shoulder. ‘Wouldn’t _you_ like to see that.”

“I mean, it _would_ be... kind of hot.”

I looked up, frowning. He looked down. “Would it?”

“What?”

“Seeing me with another dude. Would that be hot, for you? Like... would you like to see that?”

“You mean watch it? Like a real-life porn?”

“That’s… one way of seeing it, but yeah.”

“Well, I mean... I don’t know. Would _you_ be into that?”

“Would you?”

I looked over at him. He looked at me. Nobody said a word. We both knew, whoever spoke next would definite whatever next step we took.

Though, to be honest, I already knew exactly which way the wind was blowing for us there.

“I _guess_ it would be something worth exploring”, I said, at last. If someone had to take the first step, might as well be me. “But... it couldn’t be with just _any_ guy, you know? Like, pick a random guy off the street, that sort of thing. I guess I would need to at least… I don’t know, know who it is?”

“No, no, of course. I figured that.”

“Or, like, maybe in a way where we wouldn’t have to, like, know who it was? To not make things awkward afterwards? Or maybe both.”

“You mean, you pick the person, but the person doesn’t know it’s you?”

“Yeah, you know, like that.”

“That could be worked out. I’m pretty sure that’s what ski masks were invented for.”

“I thought it was to rob people.”

“That’s another use for it”, he shrugged.

“You wanna… maybe… check some folks out? Not that I’m saying I'm down to it or anything, but...”

Derek had his laptop out faster than you can spell out ‘thirsty’.

We pushed the coffee table out of the way and laid down on the carpet, Derek on top of me with the laptop in front of us. It was weird checking out Facebook with him looming over me – especially since I hadn’t seen it for days. It was mostly because I always found the idea of seeing the news of your high school classmates getting married or having children or being arrested oddly creepy.

Not as creepy as, apparently, what Derek found on it.

“Wait, you had a _buzz cut_?”

“Uh, yeah. In high school.”

“Oh my _God_.”

“What? It’s not _that_ bad!”

“You look like an elf!”

“Hey! Thanks for the self-esteem boost, buddy!” I groaned, elbowing him.

“I’m sorry, but – Jeez. Look at the size of your head.”

“You know we’re on the internet, right? One click away from ‘unflattering pictures of Derek Hale’.”

“Oh, _please_ , like those actually exist.”

They probably did, but I didn’t want to ruin the picture-perfect I had of him.

We scrolled down my Friends List, trying to see if there was anyone that caught my eye. Most of them were my High School friends, so they weren’t really around anymore; though, under different lenses, it was interesting to notice just how many hot dudes I had gone to school with.

Strangely enough, most of them looked like they were college freshmen even before they were high school sophomore.

There was Jackson Whittemore; was he still doing porn or was he in London? Or both? (Do they actually watch porn in Europe or do they just whack it to pictures of ugly dudes with high cheekbones?) Matt Daehler, but he got arrested for stalking; Jordan Parrish, but he was one of Lydia’s exes, _and_ worked with my dad, so a double no-no. Jared Sutheim, but he hadn’t outgrown his acne phase yet. The twins, Ethan and Aiden, but they looked like bulldogs and I’m fairly sure they had a _Flowers In the Attic_ thing going on.

“Can be a girl, if you want to”, Derek said, resting his chin over my shoulder.

“Yeah, but that won’t be fun for you to watch.”

“Depends on the show you put on.”

I snorted, but decided to ignore him.

“What about this guy?” he said, stopping me from scrolling.

“Boyd? Nah. He is Erica’s boyfriend. Erica worked with me on the burger joint.”

“Says here he is single, though.”

“Oh. Must be that time of the year again.”

I could see his puzzled look through his reflection on the laptop.

“See, a couple of times a year, Boyd and Erica break up. We don’t know why, they just have a fight and break up. Then they date someone else for like, two weeks, then get back together. Like a strange, vicious cycle.”

“Sounds like a window of opportunity to me.”

“But Boyd is more of the silence, gentle-giant type. I don’t think it’s the kind of thing he’d be up to.”

“You know, I think you’d be surprised what people do for the right offer”, Derek whispered in my ear, in that way that made me squirm.

I knew better than anyone about what right offers could do to someone.

“How about him?” he said, pointing to Danny Mahealani’s picture.

“Danny from the coffee shop? I don’t know.”

“You have your _barista_ on Facebook?”

“Uh, yeah? I mean, he is a nice guy. Besides, he always posts coupons for free bagels or free coffee on his page. When you’re on a budget, everything free is worth it. Not that you’d get that, but –”

I guess I ended up hitting a nerve. Derek’s body tensed up over mine, and he looked very gloom.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. You’re right. When you grow up with everything you want, it’s – you don’t really think about people who don’t. The cons of a sheltered life.”

“I’d call it more of privileged, but…you know, whatever works for you”, I said, bopping him in the nose.

“You know, though…he is really cute.”

“Who?”

“Danny the Barista.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, he kinda is.”

Not _kinda_. He actually was really cute, if you thought about it. It’s those dimples, you know?

“Which one would you prefer?” Derek asked, running his nose over the curve of my neck.

“Dunno. They’re – _hmm_ – both hot.”

“Yeah, but you _can’t have_ both, can you?”

I sighed, heartily, his lips trailing down my back. “Now _that_ would be hot.”

“You wanna try it? Both of them at the same time?”

I moaned something in response, focusing more on him dragging his teeth against my shoulder blades. The idea was tempting – but as a fantasy fuel, maybe. I knew these guys enough to know they wouldn’t even consider the possibility.

Well, I guess I’d have said the same about myself, but… it’s different.

But it wasn’t like I had a lot of time to dwell on the proposal. The further down Derek’s kisses went, the less I cared about it and the more I eagerly waited for him to reach his final destination.


	12. he's so lucky, he's a star...

_**Chapter Twelve.** _

 

The good news is that I didn’t have to worry about Derek activating a remote-controlled dick inside of me half-way through a test the next day, so I could focus all of my attention on actually studying and passing.

The bad news is, with the shit that I had to face in the following tests, I kinda missed having something to divert my attention.

I had thought that Professor Harris’ test was to die – but that was before I turned the page and saw what Ms. Blake had waiting for us. I swear there was not a single word I understood in that mumble-jumble of sentences strung a My Little Pony fan trying to impress people on Reddit.

It was godawful. The worst part? Everybody else seemed to breeze through it like it wasn’t a big deal. Scott had turned the page even before I had left the first question.

 _Maybe the problem is with me_ , I thought bitterly. Maybe my poor old brain had finally given up on trying to understand...whatever it was that professor Blake taught. What _did_ she teach, anyway? Theory of something? Literature, maybe? For the life of me, I couldn’t remember, but I was pretty sure I was gonna flunk it anyway.

Why couldn’t college life be like one of those porn movies Scott is always linking me where the sexy above-thirties-but-not-in-her-forties-yet teacher falls head over heels in love with the skinny nerd with an average-sized dick and no perspectives in life? Or, you know, like in a reverse Woody Allen movie?

Everything sounds easier in the movies. Maybe that’s why Derek decided to work in them.

Or maybe because he has a natural talent for lying and deceiving, and being a lawyer doesn’t pay half as much as an actor gig.

Who knows, really?

After my final test on Wednesday, Scott and I headed downtown to the coffee shop, where Kira was already waiting for us.

“Well, _someone_ looks better!” she said, looking me up and down.

I frowned, pulling a chair. “As opposed to...?”

“Before, when you didn’t”, she shrugged.

“Wow, damn. Thanks.”

“It’s not like that”, she chuckled. “I just mean is that you’ve been...a bit weird, the last times I’ve seen you, that’s all. You looked half-way into freaking out on Monday, for starters.”

“You know, you know, I’ve been busy, working and shit”, I mumbled, slurping up my coffee.

“Yeah, Stiles has been working his ass off”, Scott chipped in. I almost spit out over his face.

I mean, that’s... a way of putting it.

“Weird, because I don’t remember seeing you at Brett’s the last time I went there”, she said, with a raised eyebrow.

“Probably my day off, or I was in the back considering whether or not I should boil my own face off.”

I did that a lot, back in the day.

(That made me sound like an old man, but you know what I mean.)

“All that hard work is paying off, though. Dude’s been rolling in the dough!” Scott laughed. He reached out across the table to squeeze my shoulder.

“It’s not that big a deal. But at least we’re gonna have money to buy a half-decent Christmas dinner. Or are you guys heading home?”

The mood around us switched as soon as the words had rolled out of my tongue. Sitting next to him, Kira threw Scott a look that could only be translated as ‘you didn’t _tell_ him?’, to which Scott wordlessly replied with ‘shit! Sorry, I forgot’. I knew how that worked because we had those conversations all the time.

So something wasn’t quite right there.

“Actually uh, mom and I are gonna spend Christmas with Kira’s folks. They’re gonna get to know each other, and all that stuff”, Scott shrugged. “Dad had invited us too, but you know –”

“You’d rather eat a bucket full’a nails, I know how it is”, I nodded, shrinking down a bit on my chair.

“But – but hey, are your parents gonna travel this year, too? Maybe you, uh, maybe you could stop by Kira’s place, right? Your parents wouldn’t mind, would they?”

Kira tensed up. “I...guess not. You know, the more the merrier.”

“Nah, man, it’s cool, I got other plans.”

I didn’t, of course, but fuck if I was gonna tell them that. I could already tell by the wrinkles on Scott’s nose that he was feeling like shit for not telling me we weren’t gonna keep the tradition this year – I wasn’t gonna make matters worse.

And to be honest, I’m being unfair by even referring to it as a ‘tradition’ to begin with. It’s not. It’s more like... well, my parents usually travel during Christmas holidays (it’s the only time of the year they actually have the chance to), but they usually go to exotic places that involve tanning or family activities, which are two of the things I dread the most, so I take a hard pass on it – meaning I either get to stay home by myself, or, if Mama McCall happens to not be on a shift, I spend Christmas with them.

But that was before, of course.

Now I was sitting there, watching the two lovebirds drink their Mochaccinos, and suddenly I had a little voice in my head singing the first lyrics of ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’ – except in this case our trio would be down to one.

I mean, obviously I knew someday we would find nice ladies to marry and have that 2.5 children ideal life in the suburbs, but I never figured it would be...so quick, you know? Like. They are spending holidays together now, will probably get married a little after finishing college. Get a beautiful house with a white picket fence and a garden with petunias on it. Have beautiful 1/3 Mexican, 1/3 Irish, 1/3 Korean kids. I will end up as that uncle who has a miserable job he doesn’t like behind a desk of a faceless multi-national, working for a boss he hates and only coming to visit one weekend every month so he can catch up with somebody else’s life, because that will be the most exciting thing he’ll have going on.

God. Just thinking about it was a nightmare.

I was pulled from my daydreams – thankfully – by a well-known voice behind me. “Hello boys.”

“Lydia! Wow! Long time no see!” Scott almost jumped out of his skin.

“It has, hasn’t it?” she smirked, taking the empty seat between us. “And you must be Kira, right?”

“Yeah, you’re Stiles’ ex, right?”

Lydia quirked an eyebrow. It took her exactly two seconds to figure out that neither of us had told Kira that Scott and Lyd had been an item back in the day.

She pursed her lips into a smile. “ _Yes_. I was the one to pop his cherry. Fun times! For him, anyway.”

“Hey! I’m right here, you know?”

“And I’m not whispering, darling.”

“I like her”, I heard Kira murmuring into Scott’s ear, much to his chagrin, I believe.

“So, Lyd, what exactly brings you here, to our little corner?”

“You know, just picking up coffee for one of my clients”, she shrugged, sipping her own Frappuccino. “He’s particularly grumpy this morning, so I have to try and drown him in something hot and sweet.”

“He is?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested. I had left before Derek woke up that morning, since I had to review some of the material for class (a useless effort, but whatever), but as far as I could remember he was sleeping as peacefully as someone whose balls had been drained could.

“Yeah. Apparently the new director doesn't just want reshoots. They wanna do some rewriting too, because of their artistic vision or whatever else bullshit they are selling the press”, she waved it off like an annoying fly, a donut half-stuck inside her mouth. “So a couple of weeks went down the drain.”

“Oh, shoot. Does that mean you guys gotta stick around town a little bit more?” Scott asked. My heart skipped a bit; shit. I had almost forgotten about that.

Lydia nodded in agreement.

“What’s the movie even about anyway? I heard they were hiring extras downtown, but the flyers were kinda vague about it...” Kira chipped in.

“Honestly? I don’t even remember anymore. I biopic, maybe? A romantic dramedy? It’s Oscar bait, essentially. Nobody is gonna give a shit about it in six months. Kinda like Boyhood. Well, minus the pedophile fuel.”

“Yikes”, the three of us said in unison.

“Yikes is correct”, she said, wiping the corners of her mouth. “I think it’s gonna work out great, though. I’m hoping so, anyway. Lots of things at stake here. Lots and lots of money. And speaking of money, that’s what time is, so I gotta go deliver coffee to Mr. Grumpy Cat.”

“I’m...gonna see you out”, I hurried to say, in part because I _did_ want to talk to her in private, and in part because I knew Scott was about to drown Kira in kisses to avoid any unfortunate questioning that may come his way.

I waited until we were safe and sound outside from any hearing ears to pull her aside.

“Is that official, then? That you’re gonna stick around longer?” I asked, trying (and failing) not to sound too eager. “You had mentioned it before, but –”

It felt like it was forever ago that we had had the ‘cakes and pies’ conversation. Like a modern-day birds & the bees, except about buttsex and stuff.

“It’s not set in stone yet, but I’d say it’s very likely”, she said, juggling her cell phone and purse in one hand and the coffee and car keys in the other.

“So, will my, uh, services still be required longer?”

“That’s for you and Derek to decide later. Or...we still got a couple of hours of filming. You wanna drop by the set and have a chat with him?”

“I don’t know. Won’t I get in the way?”

“Nah. I have the feeling he'd be _very_ happy to see you.

“Wait a minute”, I squinted at her grinning face. “Do you want me to go _talk_ to him, or do you want me to give him a blowjob or something?”

“The latter _would_ be in your job description, correct?”

“Lydia! Come on!”

“I’m just saying”, she shrugged again. “But you _can_ come just to see how it is, if that's what you want. He’ll still want to see your dumb face anyway. Or do you have anything else to do today?”

I didn’t. And, to be honest, I wanted to see his dumb face too.

 

* * * * *

 

The movie production had interdicted an entire street downtown, which made traffic a pain in the ass – well, not the traffic so much as Lydia screaming about the traffic. Near the set itself, a half-dozen fangirls were stationed, flocking around the sight of the idol.

Yeah, Derek was there, signing autographs and taking pictures with the crowd. He didn’t look as bummed out as Lydia made him out to be.

Then again, Lydia is a filthy liar.

Derek spotted us through the sway of tweens heads, and he beamed up a smile. I felt my ears turning red.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, after we crossed over to his side of the improvised fence.

“Lydia suggested it”, I waved off, trying to play it cool.

She rolled eyes. “Here’s your coffee, Derek. I’m gonna go yell at some people. You two birdies behave.”

“Don’t we ever?” he joked. She shot him a killer look. “Are you gonna stick around to watch the filming?” he asked me, leading the way into the set.

“As long as I don’t get in the way, sure. Is it gonna be an action scene?”

“I don't think we’ve had a single action scene in this movie so far. But there is a lot of crying. From the crew, mostly.”

“Probably when Lydia is around.”

He laughed, and to my surprise, Derek rested his hand over my shoulder. It was, I realized, the first time we were seeing in public – even if in a relatively safe space. For a split second I worried about what the people around would think, until I remembered that by all accounts I’m his personal assistant and nothing more; besides, he was leaving enough room between the two of us to make it look like we were just bros touching each other, as bros do.

I wanted to snuggle up next to him, but I had to contain myself; there were literally cameras everywhere.

“I, uh, I kinda had an ulterior motive to stop by”, I admitted. “I... gotta ask you something.”

“Sounds awful serious. Did something happen?”

“No, it’s not like that. But, hm, Lydia mentioned something about you sticking around town for a while longer.”

“Oh, yeah, about that.” He stopped; I thought for a second it was to look at me, but then I noticed he was looking way ahead, to someone gesturing to him. “Can we talk in a while? I have to shoot a scene right now.”

“Sure, sure”, I dismissed with a hand wave. “I can wait around here for a while.”

Derek smirked. “Actually...what do you think about doing some extra work?”

“Like what?”

“Actual extra work. We need somebody to fill in a scene.”

“You mean like acting?”

“I’d say it’s more on the lines of standing around looking pretty.”

“So you think I’m pretty?”

He brushed my hand away from his chest. “Let’s not start things we can’t finish, alright?”

“Hey, I didn’t object when you decided to pull your little prank half-way through _my_ class, Mr. Hale", I pouted, but didn’t insist.

“I do think you’re pretty, though”, he winked, before heading towards the guy calling him.

I followed him closely, but the moment one of the busy bees standing around heard I was an extra, they promptly shoved me aside, to where all the other extras were. It was a very bright room with a lot of mirrors that smelled like bubble gum and caffeine; other kids around my age were getting their make-up fixed or their hairs done. One of them was buck naked, trying to get his ass into a pair of pants at least two sizes too small for him; I tried not to stare too much.

Failed on that, too.

While I tried to situate myself on what I was supposed to do, someone threw me a cardigan and an apron; someone else smeared gel on my head and twisted my hair until it curled; and a third person rubbed concealer all over my face until my face looked like some baby’s ass.

I could barely recognize myself when I looked in the mirror, which I thought was kinda awesome. Was that what all girls felt like when they put that shit on?

Someone also gave me a script, but I didn’t have any lines on it. The scene they – we – were supposed to be shooting was in a diner. Derek, his love interest and his...I want to say coach? Maybe father? Were in there. I was instructed by a grumpy guy that was always wearing shades even though it make him look like an asshole – the new director guy, Deucalion Somethingoranother – my role was ‘the guy behind the counter’, and all I had to do was pretend to clean a glass and serve a milkshake to two other lovebirds sitting nearby. All in all, it sounded very 60s.

I guess this is a period piece, then. Would explain why all but Derek’s co-star/leading lady were white as hell.

Speaking of Derek... if I looked different, I can’t even mention him. I had never seen him that prepped up before (mostly because I’m used to seeing him wearing nothing but his birthday suit). With his nice buttoned-up shirt, hair all parted in half and funky little glasses, he was serving bangable nerdy looks. Kinda gave me some Clark Kent vibes too, if I’m being honest.

It was hard to steer my eyes away from him, all handsome like that. I got the feeling he was having a hard time trying not to look in my general direction, too – though that was different, his booth was exactly in front of where I was supposed to be doing my thing.

He’d look over. We’d make eye contact. I’d try to look away, my face all flushed. He’d roll eyes; smile; probably stutter or forget his line altogether. I would try not to laugh like a damn idiot. It was... sort of adorable. Or at least I thought so.

Didn’t take me long to notice that, while it was endearing, _giggling_ didn’t really go with the entire scene – it was supposed to be a serious, dramatic, ‘it’s not MY dream dad, it’s yours!’ kind of thing, like in Air Bud or whichever other silly sports movie people like to watch. I guess this is a sports movie too.

The Director guy wasn’t very pleased. He made that known after we messed up on the seventh (or was it tenth?) take.

He suggested (as in: told everybody) we took a five-minute break. He took the opportunity to pull me aside by the arm and talk to me outside the set, where we couldn’t be heard.

‘Listen, kid”, he said, in a very annoyed way. “I don’t know what you and Hale have going on –”

“I’m – I’m his personal assistant. Sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they always say. But I wasn’t born yesterday”, he scoffed. “And I don’t give a rat’s ass either way. But your thing is getting in the way of my filming, and while the fans sure love their bloopers, the crew doesn’t enjoy having to redo the same scene twenty times because an extra can’t keep it in his pants.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Just go sit somewhere quiet for a couple of minutes while we finish this scene, will ya?” he massaged his forehead, and I didn’t have any psychic powers, but I sure as hell could tell he was cursing me in twenty different ways in his mind.

Guess my career as an actor ended before it even started.

 

* * * * *

 

Derek came out of the set about twenty minutes later. I didn’t know how the scene went, but there had been a lot of shouting, a lot of crying, doors being slammed, and when he left, he had fake bleeding cuts all over his face and pieces of those sugar-made bottles all over his hair. I didn't _know_ they were fake of course, so you can imagine I was positively freaked out when I caught sight of it.

“Oh my God! What the fuck happened?! Did you pick a fight with the director? Oh my God! Did you get fired? Did you _kill_ him?!”

“Jesus. Calm down. It’s part of the scene", he laughed, holding me my the wrists when I tried to touch one of the apparently-still-stuck-on-his-face pieces of glass. “Why would you think I killed the director?”

‘Cause I always jump to the worst possible conclusion at any given circumstance? “I don’t know. I probably would have. Did it all work out, though? I didn’t cause any problems, right?”

“Well, people will talk, but that's what people usually do.” His thumbs drew small circles on the back of my hands, before he realized he was still holding on to them. “It’s fine, it will be fine. I’ve got about half an hour, if you still want to talk.”

I did, but before I had the chance to tell him so, it was stolen from me an unexpected arrival.

“He-llo there, fellas”, the lady said, throwing her arms over Derek’s shoulder. It was Derek’s co-star, Braeden. Her hair and make-up were all messed up, but the glass and blood seemed to have missed her. “What’s the deal?”

“We’re just talking”, Derek hushed to say.

“Oh hey, you're the kid that kept laughing back there”, she said, turning her eyes to me. It only served to make me go red in the face.

“Sorry about that.”

“‘Sokay, happens to the best of us. Your first gig?”

“He’s my personal assistant, actually”, Derek intervened. “I thought it would’ve been a good idea to keep him busy for a couple of minutes, but guess that wasn’t the case.”

“Hey!”

“I think one of the shots with you in it is still usable, so maybe they’ll mix it up and put you in there. Get you your big break”, Braeden winked. “And you, mister Hale – still on for Friday?”

“Uh...sure.”

“Nice. I’ll text you the address”, she said, and then she proceeded to do something that took me entirely by surprise – she leaned up and kissed Derek. On the lips. And he didn’t seem really fazed by that.

“Damn. I’ve heard of method actors, but she seems _committed_ to her job", I said, crossing my arms as we watched Braeden march to her trailer. Can’t say I blamed her, really.

“Uh, actually...”

“‘Uh, actually’ what?” I asked, one eyebrow going up.

“Braeden and I are, uh...seeing one another. Off-work hours.”

“But you’re – she’s your _beard_!”

“Shh, keep your voice down!”

“Derek!”

“Let’s – let’s keep talking about it somewhere, okay? Let’s go to my trailer.”

It wasn’t so much a suggestion as it was he dragging me to his trailer by the arm. I was half-shocked, half-confused, and all the way angry.

“So what? Does she know? You’re gay?” I asked, closing the trailer door with a bang.

“Not... in those terms”, he said, flopping down on his chair.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I didn’t tell her.”

“Goddamn it!”

“I don't know why you're getting so riled up about. It's not that big a deal.”

“Uh, yes, it is! You’re _using_ her.”

“I’m not – it’s not like that. It’s just a PR stunt. We do this kind of thing _all the time_. Jennifer Lawrence breaks up with that kid from A Single Man every time she has to make a movie with Bradley Cooper in it, it’s literally written in her contracts.”

“But that’s not the same thing”, I said, waving a threatening finger. “And how do you remember him for A Single Man but not for Skins? He literally gave another guy a blowjob in it.”

“Yes, and it was the highlight of the entire show, but that is not the point here.”

“Exactly! The point is that you’re _using_ her.”

“I’m not –”

“Does she know?” I interrupted. “That it is just a PR stunt? Did she agree to it?”

“Not really, but –”

“Then you are using her. And that’s not cool.”

He sighed, throwing his head back. “What do you expect me to do, then? Tell her the truth?”

“Why not? You told me.”

“ _That_ is not the same thing."

“And why the hell not?”

“‘Cause you, I can just get someone to run over with a car if you threaten to spill the beans. She is a B-List actress, it's harder to get rid of the body.”

“WHAT THE FU–”

“Jesus. Calm down, I’m just kidding”, he jeered. “It’s because I trust you. And Lydia trusts you. And Lydia _would_ have you murdered if she thought you were up to no good.”

To be honest, I could definitely see that happening. Vividly.

“Okay, so maybe don’t tell her the whole truth. Just...half of it.”

“Elaborate.”

“Just... I don’t know. Tell her you want to do the Jennifer Lawrence-Bradley Cooper thing. No strings attached. She’ll understand.”

“Alright, alright, Jiminy Cricket”, he stood up, throwing his hands in defeat. “You can be worse than Lydia as the voice of my consciousness.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.”

I stuck out my tongue at him. He smirked, getting closer.

“You know, by your reaction, I almost thought you were just pissed, ‘cause you thought she was gonna take more of our time.”

“What do you mean, ‘take _more’_?” I asked. He pulled me by the waist, pressing our hips together – but not even staring into those beautiful eyes of his were enough to stop me from making that mental connection.

Time with her equals less time with me equals those supposedly long meetings he’d had. Oh.

It made sense. I should have figured it out before. Not that it was a big deal or anything; it wasn’t like I was gonna be jealous of Derek for it. I had no reason to be jealous of Derek. I just... I just thought it was a very shitty thing to do, to someone that looked to be very nice. That’s all.

That’s all.

“Speaking of time. That was actually what I wanted to talk to you about”, I said, brushing those pesky thoughts aside.

“If it's about prolonging your contract, I'm sure we can arrange that”, he said, stroking the corner of my mouth.

“That would be nice. But I was actually thinking of the, uh, _afterwards_.”

Derek froze. In those brief seconds when he just stared at me, I could tell his mind was working at full speed, trying to decipher what exactly I meant. _Is he gonna be asking for more money?_ , he probably wondered. _Will he want me to keep paying for him to stay quiet?_ “What do you mean, afterwards?”

“See, I was thinking...maybe you could get me a job?”

“...What?”

“Yeah. Like. I could be your real personal assistant, you know? Get your coffee, wash your clothes, take out the trash, fill your tank, that sort of thing. I guess that’s what they do. Or! Or! Maybe Lydia could get me a gig at her agency. Start from the bottom and go from there, right?”

“But, Stiles, you understand that you’d need to move to L.A. to do that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, _duh_.”

“That’d mean quitting school. I thought the whole reason you were...working for me was to pay for college to begin with.”

“And it is! But...it’s complicated.”

I moved away from him, turning back. I could see the sight of us in the mirror of his dresser; he looked confused, while I could barely recognize myself. And it wasn’t even because of the make-up.

“It was my dad's idea for me to go to college. He never went, and even if he has a great job, he still wanted something more for me other than town sheriff. Since Scott was coming, I figured – might as well, right? But now...”

“Now you’re not sure. Because of... this.”

“No. Not really. I mean, yeah, in part. It's more like... I don’t wanna end up stuck in a sad, boring life, with a sad and boring job and nothing but memories of something I did ten years before. Sure, maybe it works for Scott and Kira, and the other guys, but I don’t wanna look back on my life and think I just wasted it all for nothing.”

He rested his hands over my shoulders, his thumbs massaging my shoulder blades. “I understand. But you know it’s a tough decision to make. Your whole life is here.”

That made me laugh. “I don’t really have a life here. I have three friends, if that many, and they all have their own things going on. Probably gonna flunk a bunch of classes this semester. Can’t even decide on a proper major yet. If I left, I don’t think there would be a whole lot of tears.”

“It’s still what your father wanted, isn’t it? What he invested on.”

“Yeah, and when I tell him, he's gonna freak out – but then mom is gonna talk him out of it, ‘cos she trusts I know what I’m doing most of the time. Besides, with the money you’re paying me, I can set up an account and if things don’t work out there, I can just come back to my boring life.”

“Seems you gave this a whole lot of thought, huh.”

“Yep” – but _not really_. While I _had_ had that little bug in my head for a while not, it had really only come into a full-blown realization while I was in the car with Lydia earlier. Listening to her talking to some of her other clients, I realized – that was actually something I _would_ enjoy doing. I didn't have any experience, but I could learn! I could get into it! Maybe start small, work myself up to an agent, a manager.

Maybe not the career I thought I’d have, but...maybe the one that was meant for me?

“Alright, then, let’s do it like this: we’ll see how things turn out for the rest of the month. If, by then, you still haven’t changed your mind, we work something out. Okay?”

I nodded in agreement. He spun me around, cradling my face in his hands again so he could kiss me. Something about the way he looked at me – I knew that he wouldn’t work something. That he had said that to indulge me. Once our little thing was done for, I don't think he expected to see my face again.

But that’s fine. For now, I could at least pretend. Sometimes that’s good enough, right?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! A lot of responses about the threeway thing, eh? Well, I have read the suggestions and...decided to ignore them anyway, since I already have the rest of the fic planned out, and I know how it's going down. But enjoy it ;)


	13. happens to the best of us.

_**Chapter Thirteen.** _

 

So, since Derek would be busy during the entirety of Friday – hopefully making things right with Braeden, while there was still time – I would have nothing to do. A truly, completely for-myself-day, where I could just chill out. Yes, I could study for my last tests, but that was…unrealistic. I was probably just going to sleep a whole fucking lot.

That is, until Scott came out, like a demon in the night, to remind me of my past sins.

“You should ask Heather out”, he said, with a mouthful of popcorn.

“What? Why?”

“‘Cos you’ve said you would and it’s been a week already?” Kira butted in. The two of them were plopped in the couch in front of the TV, in their traditional ‘Thursday Date Night’, which meant eating popcorn and watching (read: shouting at) reruns of game shows, even though they already knew how they ended.

I had stopped by just to get a change of clothes. A lot of my clothes, I had noticed, were in Derek’s house, but none of them was exactly clean, so I had to get this done back in the apartment.

Most of those there weren’t clean, either.

“Since you aren’t doing anything tomorrow, might as well hang out with her, right?” Scott suggested, and I had to admit it was a solid plan.

I mean, I liked Heather, didn’t I? She was funny and cute and cool. Yeah, she was cool. A cool girl – but not a Cool Girl. I think it’s important to make that distinction, because I don’t want to go out with her and then fast-forward to five years and she is pinning her own murder on me. You know how annoying that can be.

“Guess there is no problem in hitting her up”, I said. “You think she wants to go out with me still?”

“Sure she does!” Kira answered.

“Why? How do you know? Did she say anything?”

“Don’t be paranoid, Stiles.”

Paranoid? _Moi?_ It’s not like my entire personality was built around getting validation from people! Geez!

I left the lovebirds behind and decided to go ahead and hit Heather up. What was the worst that could happen, aside from her turning me down, or saying she was going to go and never actually showing up? Well, a lot of other things, but I didn’t want to think about them while I waited for the messages to go through.

‘Sure, I’d love to hang out, two winky faces’. I’m not kidding, she actually wrote ‘two winky faces’, because somehow this is DeviantArt and it’s 2003 also.

Oh Lord.

 

* * * * *

 

So we agreed to meet each other in her sorority house, so we could spend some ‘quality time’ together. Apparently it would all be cool, her sorority sisters were all gonna be conveniently gone for the night; some of them were already done with their tests, so they were headed home earlier for the holiday.

That was cool. That was cool. No pressure or anything.

I got dressed up, all nice and clean. Underwear was smelling like roses, too, just in case – we never know, right? Same thing with the condoms in my back pocket. We never know if or when Netflix and chilling becomes something else.

Checked my phone a couple of times, too, but Derek hadn’t sent me anything. Not that I was expecting him to, anyway – I mean, he was out with his fake girlfriend, and I was gonna hang out with Heather, and it was my day off, and we were each doing our own things, right? No need for him to come talk to me or vice-versa. Not even to tell me about his day. No. That would be stupid.

Anyway…I think I stood about five minutes outside of the sorority house, making sure my shirt wasn’t crinkled and my breathe didn’t smell like garlic, cursing myself for letting Scott pick the pizza flavor of lunch. Heather opened the door just after the third bell ring, and as usual, she looked breathtakingly beautiful.

“Hey – Hi. Hello. Hm, hi”, I stuttered, cleaning my throat.

She laughed. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come in?”

“Sure. Sure, sure, sure.”

I stepped into the lionesses’ den, and I admit, my knees were shaking a little. A lot. They were shaking a lot. But I braved through it anyway.

To be honest, I had never been to a sorority house before – not for the lack of trying, but alas – so I didn’t know what to expect properly. Maybe something very Legally Blonde-esque? But there wasn’t a lot of pink to go around; although the place was definitely tidy and spotless.

It was a good thing I hadn’t invited her back to the apartment. For someone living in such a neat place, she’d probably catch the common cold just by smelling my apartment building from afar.

She toppled me down on the couch, snuggling next to me. “So, what do you want to watch?”

“I…don’t know. A comedy, maybe? Something funny.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer a scary movie?”

“I don’t…really…. _do_ scary. It’s not really my thing, you know?”

“Do tell.”

“Hah, yeah. I’m lame like that.”

“I don’t think it’s lame. It’s…kinda cute.”

Oh, bother.

She turned the TV on, browsing through the selection of movies. I finally understood why people jump into banging so quickly when they decide to ‘Netflix and chill’: it’s virtually impossible to find anything watchable in it without having to dig past enough garbage to fill an entire week of Comedy Central programming.

After a good ten minutes of consideration – which mostly boiled down to ‘I don’t want to watch this one, I don’t like this actor’ or ‘I’ve already seen it. The ending is shitty as hell’ or even ‘This dude doesn’t even know how to direct, he just wanted to put as many scenes with shirtless girls as he could’, which sadly happened more than three times – we finally settled in this one about Melissa McCarthy stealing the identity of the guy from Arrested Development.

It…wasn’t that funny.

Just like the last season of Arrested Development.

And it didn’t take long for me to realize that we weren’t actually there to watch a movie and relax. It started with Heather getting closer to me, her hand resting dangerously close to my leg, her nose pressing against my chest and upwards.

“I…thought we were going to watch the movie”, I said, when she started nibbling at my ear.

“We can do both.”

“I don’t – oh God – I don’t think so.”

“Fine by me.”

She turned off the TV – we weren’t even twenty minutes into the movie yet – and threw away the remote. I guess she took it as me saying I didn’t want the movie anymore.

Heather slid her hands around my neck and pulled me into a kiss. I obliged, even though I…didn’t….really feel anything.

I wanted to! God. God, I wanted to. I wanted so badly to feel those sparks and the fireworks and the giddiness that everybody had told me I was supposed to feel. That…that I had felt before. I wanted this, with her, right there, making out in her couch, getting all handsy with each other.

But it just…

Wasn’t there.

And I think she noticed it, too. Especially when she reached out for my crotch.

“Are you alright?” she asked, breaking off the kiss.

“Yeah – yeah, yeah, sure. I am. Why?”

“I don’t think you’re really into this, Stiles.”

“Noo! What? No, I totally am! I’m just – I’m a low starter, that’s all! Come on, let’s, uh, like –”

I tried to kiss her again, but she moved away, standing up.

“Stiles, are – are you gay?”

“What? What? Why would you even ask that?”

“Because, I mean…I’m attractive, I’m…available, for lack of better word, and I…I thought you were, too, but you don’t… really… you know…”

“So you immediately assume that I’m gay? ‘Cause I don’t wanna have sex with you?”

“I guess! I don’t know! Why would you come all the way here if you didn’t want to have sex with me?”

“I thought we were going to chill!”

“You are twenty-two! You have internet! You know what ‘chilling’ means!”

I stood up, exasperated. “Okay, fine. This was a mistake. I should go home.”

“Wait, hold on. Let’s talk about it. We can still –”

“No, you – you were right. This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”

I left, as fast as I could gather myself up, making my way to the streets. My car was parked across the sidewalk, but I couldn’t bring myself to drive. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking. I couldn’t even think straight.

I ran about two blocks before my legs gave up. I felt like sitting down and crying.

But I didn’t. Instead, I snatched my phone from my pocket, sending an SOS to the first number that popped into my head.

 

* * * * *

 

His car parked up next to me less than fifteen minutes later. I felt my stomach sinking as I watched him approaching, afraid it was just another greasy old dude asking if ‘my services’ were available.

But it was him, and I had never been gladder to see his face again.

“What happened?” Derek asked, promptly opening the door for me. “Are you okay? Your message sounded urgent.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Come here.”

“Wha-? Stiles!”

I had practically jumped on top of him, straddling my legs around his waist and kissing him with everything I had; my hands worked on getting rid of the button of his pants, while I couldn’t tear myself away from him, his mouth, his taste. I need to – to know – to _feel_ it…

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Derek asked, tearing me away from him.

“Nothing! Nothing! Can we just – can we do it? Here, maybe? Or – or –”

“I’m not gonna have sex with you, Stiles”, he said, holding me by the wrists so I’d stop trying to open his zipper. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing, I just – I just –”

“You can talk to me, Stiles. Just tell me what’s going on.”

I slid into the seat next to him, wiping away the spit from the corners of my mouth. “I went out with this – with this girl tonight, and we were – we were supposed to – she wanted to – and I – I thought I did too, but I – I couldn’t – I just…”

“You couldn’t get it up.”

“But I was supposed to! I should have! ‘Cause with you, I could – I can – I just did.”

I buried my face in my hands, both ashamed and disgusted with myself. It had taken nothing more than the touch of Derek’s skin against mine to get me going. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t supposed to be normal. Not for me. Not now.

Derek seemly thought otherwise.

“That happens, Stiles. Sometimes, you think you’re into someone, they check out all the boxes, but you…can’t get it going. It’s not a big deal. It happens to everybody. Even me.”

“To _you_? Right.”

“Yeah, actually. Despite what people may think, most gay guys aren’t sex-crazed maniacs that have sex with any and everything.”

“I – I never thought that.”

“Some people do. But that’s not the point. What matters is that you can’t force your mind to be sexually attracted to someone, no matter how much you think they match you – otherwise conversion therapy wouldn’t have such a high death rate.”

I bent over, resting my head against my knees. I could feel his hand over my head, running his finger through my hair.

He was right, of course – I knew he was right. But I still couldn’t…I couldn’t quite process it. All these changes. In my world. In myself. In everything around me. I wished the world would just stop for a couple of days so I could take a breather and figure out how I should proceed.

But the universe doesn’t offer that kind of kindness.

“Do you want me to drive you home, or do you wanna stay in my apartment for the night?” he asked, turning the engine on.

“Do you mind if I stay over? I don’t want to…I don’t think I can face Scott. Not today.”

“Of course I don’t mind. But you’re just staying over, we’re not doing anything else. Not with you in that headspace.”

It was fine by me. I pulled my legs up against my chest, curling up against myself in the seat. Every once in a while, Derek would reach out and squeeze my knee, or run his hand over my head; I had no idea what it meant, but I was thankful he did it anyway.

I was thankful for…him, mostly. Even if I was pretty sure I had ruined his night.

“I’m sorry”, I said, as we approached his apartment building.

“What for?”

“That I called you. I shouldn’t have ruined your night out with Braeden.”

He laughed. “S’okay. We were actually done a couple of hours ago. I was home watching the time go by.”

“Why didn’t you call me? We could’ve hanged out.”

“I didn’t want to ruin your day off.”

“That was doomed before it even began.”

He ran his fingers through my hair again. I looked over to him, with those beautiful kaleidoscope eyes shining under the yellow light of the lampposts nearby, and something inside of me clicked.

In that moment, when I leaned in and pressed my lips against his again, I knew exactly why Heather hadn’t given me the fireworks.  And why she never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long D: life has been crazy. but alas! here it is.


	14. how did it end up like this? it was only a kiss. it was only a kiss.

_**Chapter Fourteen.** _

 

So that was, uh, that was a thing that happened.

A thing I was not entirely, 100% sure I understood.

Was I…God. Was I in love with Derek?

No. No, no, no, no. That is a stupid thing to think. The stupidest thing anyone could think of, actually. I mean – I mean, Derek is my boss, technically, and he is terrible, face-wise. And…and how – how do I know, frankly, that you, reading this, that YOU aren’t in love with him? Maybe you are! Maybe you are trying to throw me off. Check and mate!

Oh God. Oh my God.

This is very, very bad, isn’t it?

I spent the entire rest of the night mulling over this new, disturbing realization. It surely didn’t help that Derek was at my side through most of the night; he made dinner (well, ordered dinner), we watched a movie on TV (he snored through most of it), and then I dragged us both to bed, where he flopped down, with hair all over his face.

Like a disgusting trash angel.

I could barely sleep during the night. The heat of his arm wrapped around me made the cold night feel like a sauna. He breathed, softly and rhythmically, and the sight of him was so peaceful, I had to ask myself how the rest of the world had not fallen in love with him already.

Until it dawned on me that they _had_. The problem was not that.

The problem was that Derek never loved them back.

And I could not expect that I’d be any different – Lord knows I’m anything but special.

How long had I felt like that? Was it even supposed to feel like that – dreadful, torturing, devastating? I could feel him, touch him, but he might as well be in another continent entirely.

It was like a rift had opened between us, and there was nothing I could do to cross it. I finally understood what they meant when people say ignorance is bliss.

But feigning ignorance was out of the question now, and I for sure couldn’t talk to him about this. It would ruin everything – _especially_ my bank account. This was all a business transaction, above all else.

Wasn’t that what Lydia had preached to me since day one? Don’t get attached? Don’t fall in love?

God. What was I doing? Was I high on salvia when she said that? WHY DIDN’T I LISTEN?

This was bad. Terribly, terribly bad.

And, silly me – little did I know, everything that is bad can just keep getting worse.

 

* * * * *

 

“Do you want to go to the movies with me?” Derek asked, swallowing down his cereal. He was sitting opposite to me on his couch, and we had been playing footsie for the last couple of minutes while having breakfast.

“What for?”

“To…watch a movie? What do you think people do at movies?”

I frowned. “Is that your way of asking me to have sex with you on the movie theater?”

He almost chocked down on the milk. “No, Stiles. I just want to go to the movies with you.”

“Right, right. ‘Cos, I mean, blowjobs are also things people give each other in movie theaters.”

“Have _you_ ever gotten a blowjob in a movie theater?”

“Buddy, I could barely get a handjob in my own car, do you think anyone was putting their mouths on my dick anywhere else?”

“If I had gone with you to high school, I would’ve.”

He wiggled his eyebrows, and it was my turn to choke on my cereal.

“You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

“What question?”

“Do you want to go with me to the movies or not? I got tickets.”

“How…do you have tickets?”

“A fan dropped them by yesterday. I figured I’d use them, since she was so generous.”

That was probably not what the poor girl had intended with these gifts.

“Fine boss, whatever you want”, I said, but my hand was slightly shaking. I had felt that whenever Derek looked at me. I knew it sure as hell wasn’t a good thing; I also knew it wasn’t going to go away any time soon.

Oh, fuck me.

I left my car parked on the street, and we went on Derek’s. Not for discretion’s sake or anything, but mostly because it would be really embarrassing to go pick it up in front of Heather’s sorority, if it hadn’t be toiled already. I already had two suspicious voice mails from Mr. Scott McCall himself that I had ignored, so why confront any of my other problems any time soon?

Speaking of problems. I couldn’t help but notice a couple of suspicious-looking folks staring at Derek’s car as it pulled out of the garage, trying to get a peek through the smoked glass window. Were they paparazzi? Those did tend to pray around the houses of celebs, didn’t they? And they looked far too old to be Derek’s general fan-base – though, to be honest, I had spotted very few of them around over the days. The occasional one or two hoping to get a glimpse of their idol, yeah, but most of the time they stayed in the vicinity of the movie set. I guess they would flock around closer if he was in a normal hotel; or is that only singers’ fans that scream under their windows?

In a way, I’m thankful that male displays of affection and/or interested are stifled since birth or geared towards sports, because it saves us the embarrassment of doing this kind of thing. If we are fans of someone, we just keep that shit to ourselves and jerk off to posters of Princess Leia three times a day.

Not that I’ve…done that….more than once. Nope. It’s just an example, aight?

As Derek drove us off, I quickly realized we were not heading downtown to the Cinemark. It took me just a quick to calculate the route, to see if we were headed to where I thought we were headed.

“So the tickets were to the movies…”

“Yeah?”

“They were for the town nearby?”

“Oh! Were they? I didn’t notice. I was just following the map Siri gave me.”

“Derek, you didn’t even bring your _phone_.”

He shrugged, giving me the most shameless smile a human being could ever conceive.

God, I hated him.

But, obviously, I knew why he’d do that. By all accounts, I am his assistant, but rumors are easy to start and hard to get rid of. And we wouldn’t want to tarnish his fame, now, would we?

Not when I had seen what Lydia could do with a saw in shop class, back in high school. Like fine wine, odds were she had just gotten better with age.

Best if we left the town altogether, to somewhere more quiet and more private. As you would.

We didn’t talk a lot on the way. Derek hummed to himself for a bit, while I looked out of the window, watching the world go by. Another thing – another painful thing – that came to me was the realization that whichever dream I had of going to work for him after we were done here had gone up in smokes. There was no way I could really work for Derek now – not when I could barely look to him without feeling all sorts of ways in my stomach.

“Do you want to get any popcorn?” he asked, as soon as we parked outside the multiplex.

“I guess so, I – wait, hold on a minute!”

I almost jumped out of the car the moment I spotted the big ass poster hanging out the wall of the building. Derek followed shortly thereafter.

“No way! Look at her, she looks exactly like you!” I said, pointing out to the girl in the center of the poster. She was dressed in a flowing white dress, with a tall blonde white guy to her right, and a brooding dark-haired guy with the typical back-turned-but-side-of-face-twisted-so-it-could-still-be-visible pose at her left, but further into the background. The words ‘ARISEN’ were arched over their heads in silver-gold. It looked like a re-heated version of…honestly, pretty much any young-adult novel of the last ten years.

“That’s, uh, that’s my sister Cora”, he said, and his face had grown very pink. “It’s her first big movie as a protagonist. I didn’t get the chance to go to the premiere, but I figured I could catch it when I had some time off.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Like today.”

He smiled, his ear perked up. He didn’t want to fulfill a weird kink of having sex in a movie theater, then. He just wanted to see how his kid sister’s big break was going.

He could have told me that, obviously, but we all know Derek is not good with words. He is good with his mouth, sure, but not with words.

But this is not the moment to think about Derek’s mouth, or how soft and velvet-y it is. CONTROL YOURSELF.

I charged myself with the task of picking up the popcorn and the sodas, after he declined my suggestion of us – or at least him – taking a couple of pictures in front of his sister’s poster, to post on Instagram or whatever. He didn’t have an Instagram, apparently, since Mr. Multi-Million Dollar Movie Deal couldn’t be bothered to at least appear to be social.

He really did make it hard for the fangirls to stalk him.

As I waited in the counter for my popcorn to be done, I watched a scene unfolded in the line ahead. Derek was waiting there with our tickets; a couple of steps ahead there was this…dude. Athletic, handsome, All-American white boy, a jaw so sharp it could cut glass with it. And he was looking directly at Derek.

No, not ‘looking’. That’s not the proper expression. He was…giving him the bedroom eyes. The ‘I’m available and willing’ eyes. The same eyes the guy gave me in that day in the restroom. The same look I probably gave him the last couple of weeks.

I could not tell what Derek was doing with his face, but I could see he was looking towards the guy. They probably had made eye-contact already. It was clear in the way the guy bit down his lip.

I felt something on my stomach sink.

“You okay? Our line is about to open”, Derek said, when I returned with the drinks and the food. I don’t know why he asked – _he_ was the one more flustered than me.

“I’m fine. Let’s get going.”

 

* * * * *

 

So, about this movie…

It’s absolute garbage.

And I mean that in the nicest way.

The movie is awful. It has very little plot to speak of. The characters are wooden and one-dimensional, and the ones that aren’t, are very little more than just caricatures of what I assume could have been really interesting characters, had they been directed by someone with any kind of talent whatsoever.

And the plotholes. Lord, the plotholes.

I mean, you would think that in a movie about a love triangle between hybrid half-human half-fairies in space (!), one could dismiss the details of the plot with at least the cinematography, but not even that held itself up. There were barely any shots of space. It was just a lot of people walking around in long, drown-out corridors wearing what looked like a desperate attempt of joining ‘space opera clothing’ and ‘Queen Titania and King Oberon’s personal wardrobes’ in a confusing mess.

Derek’s sister, she was…she was bad, but she was the least bad of the movie, and that is saying a lot. _A lot_. I believe she could have done better, if they had given her anything to work on, besides looking pretty and getting rescued by the pretty blonde guy (who at some point was hinted as being her half-brother, but that plot was dropped) or the brooding brunet, who the director tried to paint as totally-trying-to-get-into-her-pants-but-in-a-tsundere-way, though that didn’t work. The guy looked more hot and bothered in his scenes with the blonde guy than when Cora was around.

At least they took their shirts off a lot.

I admit that I dozed off a couple of times during the first two parts of the movie. No matter how much I wanted to, my mind kept drifting back to that guy making heart-eyes at Derek; he was in our session, too. I had spotted him when we were going up to our seats in the back. He didn’t take his eyes off Derek for a second. If I had gripped my soda cup any tighter it would’ve spilled everywhere.

Thankfully, I’m very good at controlling myself. Or at least I try to tell myself that, until someday I believe it.

“I have to go to the bathroom”, Derek said, after a while. We had finished our drinks and the popcorn in the first couple of minutes, when we were laughing off at the goofiness of the movie, until we realized it was not intentional, everything was supposed to be Serious Business and the only way to go from there was downwards.

I didn’t think about Derek going to the restroom as anything other than a full bladder… at least until, about a minute after he left, a familiar head stood up and left his seat.

Fuck.

It could have been a coincidence, though, right? I mean, maybe they both just needed to go to the bathroom at the same time. Two attractive guys, who were throwing eyes at each other just earlier that day. A total coincidence, right? Right?

But then the minutes passed. One, three, five. And Derek wasn’t back yet. Neither was the other guy. Was there a line to the bathroom? No, we had caught the matinee session, there was barely anybody around. There was definitely something else going around.

I could even picture it. Derek, out of breathe, his head against the door of a stall, zipper undone; his dick nested all the way down the back of the throat of the other guy, Derek’s hands all over the guy’s blonde hair, bucking his hips until the guy’s nose was buried on his pubes. I could almost hear his fucking moans.

And why – why wouldn’t he be doing just that? What was stopping him? Not me, that was for sure. We didn’t…we didn’t have anything. No strings attached. I was just the hole he used, when no others were available; wasn’t that right? Like another one of the toys he kept in his box, but this one he could take around with him.

How silly of me to think…to think there could have ever been anything else.

Derek came back a couple of minutes later. His hair looked wet. His hands smelled like soap. He still looked flushed.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Stiles? You look pale”, he whispered to me, sitting down. I had sunken as far back into my chair as my body allowed me to.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Are you _sure_? We can go home, if you’re not feeling well.”

“My stomach is a bit funny, but I’m fine. We can watch the rest of the movie.”

“We don’t have to”, he assured me.

“It’s _fine_ , Derek”, I said, a little more insistently.

He put his arm over my chair, but I didn’t cuddle next to him as I’d have done. I think he got the message, ‘cause he pulled his arm back shortly afterwards.

I knew I had no reason to be pissy and annoyed at him. This was – and had always been – a business transaction. It wasn’t his fault I had gotten myself all mixed up. It was all my damn fault, not his.

Still, I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him – not during the rest of the lackluster movie or afterwards, or even on the way back to town. I just stared ahead, hoping that time would bent itself and go by faster, so we could get home quicker.

Though that was where we parted ways.

“Could you drop me off a couple of streets from here? I think my stomach is getting worse”, I lied, when I noticed we were getting close to my apartment.

“What is it? Do you think it was the popcorn? Do you have a fever? I can pick something up from the pharmacy and –”

“No, it’s, uh, it’s alright. I’m just gonna…sleep off for a couple of hours. It’s been an eventful two days.”

He squinted, giving me a strange look. Did he know? _Could_ he know?

“You won’t need me for the rest of the day, right?” I asked. My street was just up ahead.

“No, but…if you want to stay over, I wouldn’t mind…” he said, and he even sounded a little defeated.

“If my stomach stops hurting, sure.”

Another lie. And we were just getting started.

He stopped the car a block away from my apartment. He reached out for my face, and his thumb stroked my cheek. His hands were still cold. “I hope you get well soon.”

“Thanks.”

I knew he wanted me to lean in and kiss him. But I didn’t.

Instead, I left, locking the car door on my way out. He didn’t stick around much long after that.

As I watched his car disappear in the distance, I asked myself what kind of life I was leading, that less than twenty-four hours before I had been dying to see that man’s face, swooping in to rescue me like the proverbial white knight, and now the sight of him made the little green monster on my chest grow twofold.

And the more I asked myself that, the more I understood that I didn’t want to know the answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys didn't think it would be *that* easy, right? :p


	15. the green-eyed monster which doth mock.

_**Chapter Fifteen.** _

 

Okay, so let’s go through a quick recap of my life in the last three-ish weeks.

First, I quit my job; seemly the only good decision I have made in my life up to this point. I only did so because I was offered a once-in-a-lifetime job offer, which turned out to be for me to go and work as a secret escort for a famous closeted movie star – who has, since then, not only made me question several aspects of my sexuality, but also helped on making me question my general life decisions (and how bad I am at making them).

To make matters worse, while working for him I was put under strict orders of not falling in love with him, which… I did anyway, despite insisting to myself and Lydia that I wouldn’t – just to be hit by the realization that, well, this is really just a business transaction, isn’t it?

Have I mentioned that all of this has also affected how I, err, _perform_ with the ladies?

Which brings me to what I was about to face.

I had no idea how I would explain the fact that I hadn’t gotten it up with Heather to Scott. Not that I _needed_ to explain anything to Scott, mind you, but he was my best friend and he deserved to know. Also, he probably already knew anyway, so I wouldn’t be able to dodge the question even if I wanted to. You know how fast gossip flies around these parts.

I opened the door of the flat slowly, hoping he’d be taking a late afternoon nap, as you would. He wasn’t.

“Hi dude,” he said, soon as I was done closing the door. “Where have you been? I sent you a buncha messages.”

“Yeah, I was… around.”

“So, how was it? With Heather?”

His question was full of innocence, but the look on his eyes told me he just wanted to hear the words coming from me. Like he was giving me the option of talking about it or not.

He was a good guy. I’m glad he chose me as his friend.

“It didn’t – uh – it didn’t happen”, I said, sitting down on the couch next to him. “I couldn’t really… It was… well…”

“Oh. Oh. I get it. No big deal, man. It happens.”

“Not to _me_ , it doesn’t,” I groaned, looking up to the ceiling. “You know how long I’ve been without hooking up with a girl?”

He frowned. “I thought you’d spend the night with one last week.”

Oh. Right. The lie I used to cover up being with Derek. “Nothing happened then, either.”

“Well, damn. I mean, I mean – like I said, dude, no big deal. It happens.”

“Has it happened to _you_?”

“Not yet, but that’s ‘cause me and Kiwi have rules and stuff.”

“Kiwi?”

“Kira, dude. Keep up.”

“Alright, alright. What rules?”

“It’s like - if she doesn’t feel like it, she tells me, even if I’m into it. So goes the other way around.”

“But you’re _always_ into it.”

He laughed, throwing his head back against the cushions. “Dude, come on. We’re not bunnies. No one is _always_ into it.”

I thought of Derek, and how he could go four times in a row while barely catching his breath. I also thought of the times when he had just laid there next to me, when we watched TV or played video games or looked at our phones, when we could be banging.

All the times I had misunderstood our… contract as more than just fucking non-stop.

God. I’m such a fool.

“Sounds like a healthy deal”, I said, swallowing hard. He laughed.

“It is! And, you know, if you want something more with Heather, you gotta talk about that. Sometimes Netflix and chilling can mean just chilling, right?”

“For sure, for sure.”

I didn’t know how to tell him I wasn’t going to push anything further with Heather – not while I had Derek in my head, and worst, in my heart. I needed a cleanse before I could go back on the dating pool, and I could only get one after my contract was done.

And yeah. Sure as hell I would continue with my part of the deal. Now that the main guideline had become clear in my mind again, there was no way of me losing myself.

Besides, the payment was too good.

And his dick, too.

 

* * * * *

 

“You’re back”, Derek said, the moment I stepped into his flat, the following afternoon. He sounded… genuinely surprise.

“Uh…yes. Here I am.”

“Are you better? Your stomach?” He stepped away from the sink, where the dishes were half-washed. You’d think a dude with this much coin would have a housekeeper, but alas.

“Yep. All good and ready to go”, I lied – I mean – I assured him. Stepping closer to him, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my lips on his. “Sorry I left you hanging yesterday.”

“It’s alright. Your health is priority.”

“At least you didn’t get blue balls.”

He ran his fingers through my hair, pulling my head back so I’d stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know, at least you got your rocks off with that other dude”, I smiled, trying to sound like I didn’t care. Or at least as if I had not spent the whole night replaying that guy’s smug face on my head.

But I did. And I had.

“What dude?”

“The one. From the movies. You know, that blue-eyed white dragon.”

“What makes you think I had sex with him? I was with you the whole time.”

I squinted. “Not the _whole_ time. Besides, I know how cruising works. It’s not a big deal.”

But it was, though.

Derek chuckled. “I didn’t have sex with that guy in the bathroom, Stiles.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I mean it. Why do you think I would go through the lengths I did to hire someone as a personal escort, just to put it all in jeopardy for the sake of a quickie in a cinema restroom?” he pressed his thumb against my bottom lip, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I noticed the guy flirting with me, and I saw him following me there, but I didn’t do anything. He wasn’t even my type.”

“Why did you take so long in the restroom, then?”

“I went to pee. Then I washed my face. Then I had to reapply my make-up.”

“Your what? You don’t even wear make-up.”

“Of course I do. Every actor wears make-up.”

“Yes, when they are _on-scene_.”

“And when I’m on the public eye. Since I’m _always_ on the public eye, I’m _always_ wearing make-up. Even when I go to sleep. You have never seen me without it.”

“That sounds like bull.”

“It’s true.”

“Nah.”

“I’m telling you”, he shrugged.

“Well, then now I want to see you without it.”

“No way, Jose. The last guy that did it died.”

“Really, now?”

“Yes. He was petrified on the spot. He is a statue on my mansion in Hollywood nowadays. Someday I’ll introduce you to him.”

“I’ll be eagerly waiting.”

“Do you believe me, though? About the guy?”

Of course I didn’t. But I wouldn’t be the first to say it. “I do. ‘Course I do. Even if I didn’t, it’s not that big a deal, anyway. You can have sex with whoever you want.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t care.” I did. “It’s kinda hot to imagine, even.” It wasn’t.

“It is, huh?” he asked, with a corked up eyebrow.

“Sure it is.” Liar. “Would _you_ have problem with me being with other guys?”

“Depends. Would I get to watch it?”

“Would you want to?”

“Maybe, maybe. We’ve talked about that before, haven’t we? The three-way idea.”

“But it wouldn’t be a three-way if you were watching.”

“Maybe it could be.”

“What? You mean, like...me and two other guys?”

He moved his hand away from my chin, biting down his thumb instead. Derek gave me a strange, disconcerting look. As much as I tried, I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Would you be into it?”

Probably not. “Maybe. Would you?”

“As long as you were comfortable, and, you know, wanted it. Do you?”

“Maybe.” Not. “It would be kinda hot.” Liar, liar, liar.

“You want me to talk to Lydia? She can arrange it.”

“She probably will pop a vein, though.”

“That just makes it more fun”, he smirked. “Speaking of fun, now that your stomach is better…”

He looked from me to the table, and then back at me, suggestively. I felt my face burning up. “You don’t waste any time, do ya?”

“Is there time to waste?” he picked me up by the waist, sitting me on the hard wooden surface. “Wanna see how far your legs can bend back?”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

 

* * * * *

 

Turned out I was really good at bending my legs back, which came to us as a surprise – and also the possibility of a future career for me, in case whatever I had going on now didn’t work out. Although, I’m not entirely sure ‘sex contortionist’ is a career profession worth going after.

We went from the table to every other flat surface around the living room, until we ended back in the couch. Well, I was in the couch, anyway; Derek was sitting on the floor, for some reason. I couldn’t remember, particularly. Things had gotten a bit…hazy after the refrigerator experience.

I knew I was all sticky, mostly because of the whipped cream. And, before you ask – no, we did not use it as lube. You may have been misled into believing it does, as well as butter or ice or toothpaste, but it doesn’t work as lube. At all. In fact, it has the opposite effect.

Trust me, I would know.

And that was even before I met Derek.

He had his head resting against the couch, with his eyes closed. I played with the hair of his nape, admiring the silhouette of his face against the light of the fake fireplace.

I hear him sigh softly.

“You’re still thinking about that other guy, aren’t you?”, he asked, without looking at me.

“Me?” _Yes_. “No. Why would I be?”

“Stiles, don’t you think that, if I wanted to do anything with anyone, it would be much more exciting to do it in the dark of a movie theater, instead of a dirty bathroom that smelled like piss?”

“It sure would be” – but the dick wants what the dick wants, when it wants it.

“I just…I don’t want you to get hang up on this.”

“I’m not.” Liar. “I swear.”

“Great. Do you want to, maybe, head to the bedroom then?”

“I don’t think I can feel my legs just yet.”

“Alright, then. Scooch over.”

He got up, jumping over on the couch. We rolled around until he was against the cushions, with his arms around me.

I didn’t want to admit it, but that...having him there…felt…nice. Really, really nice.

Or maybe I’m just a lovesick idiot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in a row, yay!
> 
> Also, happy holidays and all that mushy stuff.


	16. it's not gay if it's in a threeway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't want to read the threesome, you can just...skip this chapter. or don't. i can't tell you what to do.

_**Chapter Sixteen.** _

 

 

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my cellphone buzzing.

I remembered vaguely that Derek had gotten up before me and carried me – I don’t want to say ‘bridal style’, but that was probably how it went – to the bedroom, where I had the bed all to myself, up until I heard the annoying little buzzing coming from all the way from the kitchen, where my pants had been left behind.

There were three missed calls, all of them from Lydia. There was also a message, very short and direct to the point, that read ‘meet me in the coffee shop, twenty minutes’ and nothing more.

Ominous, isn’t it? I would have called and asked for more information, but I was already late, and I feared that if I wasn’t there in time, there would be snippers in the neighborhood waiting to take me out.

I know Lydia. I know she would be able to get her hands on something like that.

She was waiting for me, in the usual spot we sat on in the back. I stopped really quick to get my hands on a cup of coffee before going to her, trying not to get too intimidated by her glaring in my general direction or the smile that Danny the Barista Guy gave me, full of dimples and all.

Lydia waited until I had settled my ass down on the chair to actually speak, which I found was a surprising show of personal strength on her part. “So…”

“So.”

“Derek’s been talking to me. Something about a threeway.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. We kinda wanna try that out.”

She leaned in very close to me, with a smile creeping in the corner of her lips. “Are you _fucking kidding_ me?”

“Sorry – what?”

“You know how hard I’ve worked to make sure you keep your mouth shut about this? How do you expect me to manage to keep some other dumbass horny kid from babbling to the world that he banged Derek fricking Hale?” she hissed.

I had to lean back on my chair, scared she would pull me by the neck and slam my face against her particularly big forehead. “Derek, uh, Derek’s not involved in the threeway, Lyd.”

“What?”

“It’s, hm, it’s gonna be just me, actually.”

“ _What_?”

“Me and two other dudes. Derek is just…gonna watch”, I grimaced. “Like a voyeur, I think.”

“Oooh”, she sighed, pulling out her phone. “That’s it? That can be arranged.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Yeah, duh. Getting someone to fuck you is way easier, Stiles.”

I felt my face burn up. “Don’t say it like that. It’s weird.”

“I think it’s kinda hot. You think Derek would record it for me?”

“What? Me with another dude? You really would like to see that?”

“Of course. Why do you think I started dating you in the first place?” she winked. “But then I realized you were underage and I could get in trouble.”

“Lydia!”

“What? It’s true.” The way she smiled, I couldn’t tell if she was just keeping the joke up to annoy me or not. “Besides, if you didn’t think it was hot, you wouldn’t want to do it. I mean, you… are doing it because you _want_ to do it, right? Derek is not like, _pushing_ you into doing it, is he? Because if _so_ , I can have some strong words with him, and –”

“No! No, it’s not like that. I…” I swallowed dry. “I want to do it. I…”

I stared down at my coffee, tapping my fingers over the hot porcelain. I knew that if I said it out loud – if I expressed some of the things that my recent realization had awaken in me to Lydia – there was no turning back. It was another line I had to cross; another one I was scared to.

“You remember how we had that conversation about the cakes and the pies?” I asked, looking back to her.

“Sure do.”

“Yeah, so. Recently, I had a…experience with pie, which…did not…incite the kind of response one would be hoping for. The kind of problem I never had while tasting Derek’s cake.”

Her eyebrow went up. “Go on.”

“Because of that, I want to…try different cakes, to make sure that if cake is a permanent part of my dietary plan now, or if I’m just enjoying this particular flavor.”

“You really take the allegory to a whole new level, Stiles”, she laughed.

“Shut up! But you get what I mean.”

“Sure do. Although…is the best way to test your bisexuality really being spit-roasted by two dudes you don’t know?”

“Jesus, don’t put it like that.”

“That’s what she said.”

I covered my face with my hands while Lydia had a good laugh.

Glad to know at least somebody was being entertained by my miserable state of mind.

“You know, the way you said it totally reminded me of Allison”, she said.

“Allison? Allison who?”

“How many Allisons do you know?”

“A lot, actually. It’s a very common name.”

She rolled eyes. “Scott’s Allison, obviously. She and I kinda…had a thing.”

“What? No way!” I shouted, maybe a bit too loud. People were looking. “When was that? Was that before or after we dated? Or you dated Scott? Or she dated Scott? Or she dated Isaac?”

“I don’t know. The timeline is a bit…muddy. Some things may overlap. It doesn’t matter. She tasted a bit of pie, she liked it, but she realized she liked cake more. It’s not a big deal.” Lydia shrugged.

But it _sounded_ like a big deal. The breaking in her voice kinda gave that away.

“Were you guys just, like, up to good during high school and I was the only one not informed of it?” I asked, straightening up on my chair. “I kinda feel like the dumb character in this teen show. Like Seth Cohen or freaking Nate Archibald or some shit.”

“I’d say you look more like a Dan Humphrey, but that would be offensive.”

“Yeah, yeah it freaking would.”

I took a sip of my coffee. Even though it tasted great – Danny never gets it wrong – it still went sour down my throat. Why did it suddenly feel like half of my high school life had passed me by without me even noticing it? What else had happened between my group of friends that I didn’t know about? Next thing you’re telling me is that Scott and Isaac hooked up behind the bleachers after gym class.

Actually, you know what? Best not to even think of that. If you throw this shit into the universe, it WILL make sure to retrogradely make it true.

“So, anyway, I’ll make some arrangements for your…adventure”, she said, crisping her lips. “Do you have any preferences of guys to, you know, do the thing?”

“Actually, I…” I stopped and looked back. Danny had just served a Frappuccino to some guy and he happened to look in my general direction. He smiled, full of dimples, and my stomach sunk. “I actually have some suggestions for ya in that department.”

 

* * * * *

 

I was extremely surprised (if not downright terrified) of how fast Lydia managed to move things along and make the threesome come to life. It took her all but two days to call me back, saying that everything was in place – in fact, the boys had already been tested, and she had already rented a nice little apartment where the deed could be done. In her words, “taking them to Derek’s apartment would raise the risks of exposure, and taking them to yours would raise the risks of one of you dying of tetanus”.

That was an exaggeration on her part. My bedroom doesn’t have rats. Cockroaches, yes, but rats? No way!

She stopped by Derek’s apartment on Wednesday evening, when she knew we would both be there. Jokes on her, I had been there all afternoon – if someone was going to use Derek’s X-Box, it might as well be me.

(You don’t really realize how homophobic those games are until you have a guy in your earphones screaming ‘suck my dick, you f----!’ fifteen times in a row.)

Derek was tired from the shooting – there were more fighting scenes, I guess; either that or people decided that instead of flower crowns they’d put glass in their hair – so he kinda just laid in the couch, half asleep, while I perched myself on the other end of it, waiting until Lydia came around.

“You know there’s still time for you to change your mind”, he said, with an arm covering his face.

“Why would I want to change my mind?” I countered, playing with the hair on his legs. “Are you scared I’m gonna enjoy their dicks more than I do yours?”

“Not really. Especially because I don’t think they could afford to do it on the regular.”

“Touché.”

Sometimes I forget Derek still thinks I’m straight.

Sometimes I forget that I was supposed to be, until like…two weeks ago.

As the wise Michael Scott once said, ‘oh, how the turntables’.

My line of thought was interrupted when Lydia decided to pop up, as flamboyantly as one would expect her to be. “Hello fives”, she said, stepping through the door. “A ten has arrived.”

“A ten in what? A scale from zero to a hundred?” Derek joked. She retaliated by dropping her bag on his face.

“So, the boys have signed their contracts. They are ready and waiting for you, whenever you want them.”

“I’m still surprised you managed to get them to sign so fast”, I admitted. “I thought it would take a little more convincing.”

“Oh honey, please. I just played it up to their two most basic straight boy desires.”

“Which would be…?”

“Getting a lot of money really easy, really fast,” she said, counting on her fingers. “And knowing what’s like to sleep with a dude.”

“I…don’t think that’s a basic straight guy desire.” The both of them scoffed. “What? It’s not.”

“Every straight guy has at least thought about what would be like to make out with another guy, Stiles”, Lydia said, crossing her legs and leaning back on the armchair. “Most of the time they take comfort on it being, like, a celebrity or some shit. This way they can still hide behind their ‘no homo’ walls.”

I wanted to point out that she was probably talking out of her ass on this one, but given my most recent misadventures in dick-sucking, I didn’t think I was in a position to offer an unbiased opinion on what straight guys think.

“I still think they’d have played a little bit harder to get.”

“They did. Until they saw the numbers I offered them”, she winked. “I’m fairly sure Vernon thinks you’re shooting a porn scene.”

“What? Why would he think that?”

She shrugged. I got the feeling she knew _exactly_ why he’d think that.

“Speaking of which, Stiles, about your, hm, choices in partners…”

“What about them?”

“Nothing! It’s just that…the two of you are two bitch ass white boys, and the guy you chose... _aren’t_ , and before you get started, I want to make sure there aren’t any…potential…gross, fetish-y, racist aspects of –”

“Oh my God! No! No! I didn’t pick them because they aren’t white! I just chose the two hottest guys I knew!”

“Oi!” Derek raised his arm, with an offended look.

“Shut up, you know this doesn’t apply to you,” I pinched him in the leg. He went back to hiding his face under his arm.

“I just wanted to get that out of the way, you know, because I already avoided three lawsuits this year, and I don’t want to start the new year with one more”, she said, and she sounded genuinely tired. “Also it would be like, really gross and it would put our whole friendship in question, but the lawsuit would be more expensive to get rid of.”

“Good to know you at least have your priorities in place.”

“Always.” She blew me a kiss, with her bright-red lipstick.

“So how is this going to work?” Derek asked, peeking from under his arm. “Is it going to be in a dark room, am I supposed to stay in a second room behind a glass wall or –”

“Nothing that extreme”, she assured. “You’re gonna wear balaclavas.”

“What the hell is a balaclava? Isn’t that a Pokémon?”

Derek laughed so hard he choked. Lydia had to hide her face in her hands.

“It’s a SKI MASK, you walnut!” she said, rubbing her temples. Derek had laughed his way down the couch and into the floor.

“Why not just call it a ski mask, then?! Why call it a bala-whateverthefuck it is?!” I groaned. “And am I gonna have to _wear_ it?”

“All of you four will. You aren’t supposed to see each other’s faces”, she said, trying to regain her composure. Derek tried to climb back on the couch but I kept his ass on the floor with my foot. “I told them Derek was some rich asshole that wanted to watch his twink boyfriend getting pounded. It’s a kink thing. Surprisingly popular, actually.”

“Jesus Christ, why would you say that?” it was Derek’s time to complain.

“Because you _are_ an asshole, and Stiles _is_ a twink. The rest we make up as we go along.”

“I see myself more as a twunk, actually…” I tried to argue.

They both stared at me with arched eyebrows, in utter disbelief.

I hated when Lydia was around, because they were always doing this shit – acting in perfect coordination without even trying.

“ _Anyway_ ”, Lyd continued. “I’ll leave you two with the address of the apartment, and the keys. You decide when you want it done and hit me up, so I can inform the other boys. Sadly, I won’t be around to instruct you throughout the whole operation, but I’m hoping you can make it work out.”

“Wait, why won’t you be around?” I asked. “What happened?”

“My sister found out she is pregnant. She needs someone to go with her to Planned Parenthood”, Lydia shrugged. “So, you know, I won’t be around for a couple of days.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Derek, as the Good Christian Boy™ he was, chose not to say anything.

“So I’ll probably only see you guys when you’ve…finished”, she said, standing up. “I’ll want all the details, obviously. Maybe take some pictures.”

“That is absolutely not going to happen”, I assured her.

“We’ll see”, she winked. Derek, again, didn’t say anything, so that got me worried.

I mean, if I was gonna start my career in the movies, I didn’t want the first one to be porn. Although…I was certainly getting ready to put on a show.

 

* * * * *

 

We made the arrangements for the following evening.

Derek and I got into the apartment earlier. It was a nice place, very minimalistic, very beige; the kind of flat some rich CEO would have to bring his side-pieces to. No windows, no pictures on the walls, nothing that could identify the owner.

It didn’t smell weird, though, so that was definitely a plus.

For some reason, Derek seemed to be a bit uneasy. He was pacing around, very quiet, always checking his phone. While it was nice to watch his ass going back and forth from the couch, I was also starting to worry that something was up.

“Nothing, nothing”, he said. “But…are you sure you haven’t changed your mind?”

“Hm…no. Have you?”

“Me neither”, he said, and I could see he wished he sounded as confident as he was trying to be. “But if – if you do, you know you can tell me, right? I don’t want you to do anything –”

“I don’t want to do. Yes, I know. We’ve been through this before.”

I stood up, reaching out to him. He held my hands and brought them close to his mouth, kissing my fingers without breaking eye-contact. I felt my knees weaken.

“Shouldn’t, hm, shouldn’t we be getting ready?” I asked, trying to regain myself. “Boyd and Danny will be around in a couple of minutes.”

“True, true.”

“Are you sure you just want to watch?”

“Didn’t you hear Lydia on the phone a couple of minutes ago? I can’t do anything that may expose who I am. That means I’m here just to watch.”

I pouted, but he was right. I knew he was right.

Besides, no matter how much I’d want to deny it, the idea of Derek watching the whole thing was…really hot. You have to admit that the thought of it was.

Whether or not it would be when things got started was…something else entirely.

We turned off the lights and headed to the bedroom, to wait for our…guests. They had been instructed to get the keys from under the mat, strip and head to the bedroom. Lydia had given them the masks beforehand, apparently. Or instructed them to get it somewhere. I didn’t know the details.

But I knew that my heart gave a little bump when I heard the door opening for the first time, and my stomach twitched when it opened a second. I had already stripped down to my underwear, while Derek sat down on the armchair in front of the bed, the lamp lights dimmed just enough so he could still watch what was going on.

I really didn’t know what to expect until the two of them stepped into the bedroom, shyly as you were, Boyd in a pair of red boxers and Danny wearing his tightest white briefs.

They looked even more handsome without clothes on than they usually did. I kinda felt like a shrimp in front of them.

None of us really knew what to do next. Who was supposed to take the first step? What were we supposed to do? Sex ed. classes didn’t teach this kind of basic information.

Luckily, Danny took the initiative. He came forth, standing in front of me; for a moment, even under the masks, I felt like when he looked me in the eyes he recognized who I was; it was a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of moment, when he beamed me his cheekiest smile, before leaning forward and kissing the curve of my neck.

I let out an involuntary moan. Boyd took that as an invitation to approach as well.

He kissed the nape of my neck, scrapping his teeth all the way down my shoulder blades. Danny played with my nipples, the rough material of the mask rubbing against my skin in ways that sent chills up my spine.

I felt like…my body was on fire, in that moment. It was different than when I was with Derek; not better or worse, but different. Different than being with Heather, too. I understood, in that moment, why I reacted to the trail of kisses down my belly in the ways I hadn’t when Heather had kissed me: while being sandwiched between Boyd and Danny was hot, it was also…emotionless, but not in a bad way.

In that moment, I didn’t have to expect myself to _feel_ anything for either of them. Kind of how it was with Derek, in the beginning. It was just sex. Ironic, too, since I didn’t feel the same way when I was with Derek now.

But I didn’t want to think about Derek; not right there and then – even though my eyes kept wandering back to him, laying back on the armchair, with his fly undone, his hand reaching inside his shirt to feel his pecks.

I couldn’t tell what was turning me on more. The guys’ touches or the sight of him there, pleasuring himself.

Danny pulled down my underwear with his teeth. Boyd kissed my cheeks, before his tongue found his way into that magical spot; almost at the same time as Danny took my dick into his mouth. A double attack that sent my eyes rolling back into their sockets.

I whimpered, rocking my hips back and forth between their mouth attacks. Danny could only take a couple of inches in, but the flickering of his tongue made me twitch. Boyd was taking his time between fucking me with his tongue or a couple of fingers. Or both.

For a couple of straight boys, they sure learned the ropes fast.

Or maybe they just weren’t that straight, after all.

But while their tongue work was out of this world, I had to pull them away from me, before I ended up shooting too fast and cut the fun short. I pulled Danny away, pushing him to the other end of the bed; he took the hint, pulling his briefs down.

He had a nice chubby seven-incher, which I soon had pressed against the back of my throat. I have to say, there is something really hot about the sound a guy makes when he feels his dick pushing past another dude’s gag reflex.

Behind me, I heard the sound of the waistband snapping as Boyd took his boxers down, his dick rubbing against my ass. He was slightly bigger in size, but not in width, than Danny; and veiny, too. Like Derek.

Oh God. Derek. He was still watching, without blinking, stroking himself inside his jeans. Under the ski mask, I couldn’t read the expression on his face.

I was just hoping he was enjoying the show.

Lydia had left a bunch of condoms and lube over the nightstand, which Boyd promptly took hold of. He hooked his hands around my waist and pulled me in, his cockhead pushing its way inside of me while Danny kept my face pressed against his crotch. I pushed back to meet his trusts; he slapped my ass in response.

I was spit-roasted between them. Full. Stuffed.

And the night was just getting started.

Boyd and Danny were quick enough to get into a rhythm; pulling me back and forth between them, Danny’s hands running over my back, Boyd’s fingers digging on the skin of my hips. I’d let Danny’s dick slip out of my mouth every once in a while, enough to let me moan every time I felt Boyd’s cock brush against the g-spot; Danny would promptly guide my mouth back to work.

Once, though, he didn’t. He pulled me up and tried to kiss me. I shook my head; a clear no. He understood. And, I think, by the way Derek shifted in his chair, he did too.

But instead of pulling me back to his crotch, he pushed, gesticulating to Boyd that we should switch up. I found myself on my back, slapped in the face by Boyd’s hard dick, while Danny lubed himself up.

I flinched when he went in, the difference between them very distinguishable – but powered through it anyway.

Boyd guided his dick into my mouth, while Danny had my legs wrapped around his head. In the position I was, I could make eye-contact with Derek again; watching his reaction as I slowly took another guy in my mouth, swirling my tongue around his crown before I swallowed it whole.

There was…harmony, almost, in the sounds we made, the groans and moans and _shits_ and _fucks_ that matched the sloppy thrusts as hips met each other. Boyd leaned over me and took my dick in his hand, jerking it to the rhythm of Danny’s fucking. I couldn’t see for sure, but I think they were kissing.

I guess Lydia was right about a man’s basic motivations. And we had them, as well as a whole lot of stamina.

I found myself being raised up by the hips, until I was sitting on Danny’s lap, his mouth pressed on my collarbones again. I looked over to Derek, who’d pulled his dick out, and almost lost myself in the sight of him. Because of that, I barely noticed when Boyd came over, pressing himself against my back. I realized what he was up to even before I saw him reach out for another condom.

Now, Derek and I, we’ve been…doing that, for a while. With the dildo. But being sandwiched between two actual dudes was an entirely different experience. I pushed Danny down on the bed, straddling him for better support, while hooking my nails into Boyd’s ass.

Even with all the training…fuck. It hurt. It hurt like hell. It hurt like I was being split open, every inch of my body being torn in half, the deeper he went in. I tried to distract myself by focusing on Danny’s hand around my dick, or Boyd teasing my nipples, but every sharp trust – in and out, a little further each time – brought me back to reality.

Their touching, their lips against my skin, felt like I was burning alive.

I liked it.

But I still felt like there was something…missing.

I looked over at him – at Derek – biting down my lower lip. He stroked himself slowly, and when I didn’t break eye contact, he stood up. As if pulled by an invisible string, Derek approached the bed, running his hand over the back of my head; he pushed it back, so I would look at him as he pushed his dick past my lips.

Now then… then was when I felt completed.

I was…zoned out, almost; lost in the feeling of Derek’s touch against mine, as I grinded my hard on against Danny’s abs, so many hands all over me. I didn’t want it to end.

But it did. It ended in sweaty, drawn-out moans; most of whom I couldn’t tell where came from. I didn’t know which one of us came first, either, but it triggered a chain-reaction that ended with my load all over Danny’s abs.

Holy shit.

And that was just the first round.

 

* * * * *

 

Turned out we… weren’t just getting started.

Or at least not with those two guys, anyway.

They seemed to have run out of stamina on the first round, which was…both funny and unfortunate. Boyd left first, and then Danny, though they both took off with barely a couple of minutes apart.

I guess they didn’t want their walk of shame to overlap each other.

Derek was awful quiet in the aftermath of the ordeal. He went back to the armchair, with his dick tucked back inside his pants, while I lay back on the bed, sprawled out, enjoying the feeling of not having a dude’s nut leaking out of me for a change. The mask was off the moment I heard the door closing for a second time.

Not that it made any difference, anyway. I’m pretty sure they had recognized me by my voice.

That would sure make going back to the coffee shop a tad more awkward.

But those would be problems for future me. Present me had something else in his mind.

“So”, I said, sitting up. He looked over. “Did you enjoy the show, Mr. Hale?”

He crisped his lips for a moment. “Not really.”

Wait, _what_ now?

“Is that so?” I got back on my feet. “Sorry, did I disappoint you?”

“No, it was…hot. You were hot.” He stood up, too, getting closer to me. “Really, really hot.”

“But it wasn’t like porn, like you imagined?”

“It was… better, actually. Much better.”

“Then what’s the source of disappointment?”

Derek hesitated. His hands cupped my face, gently, and his thumb stroke my bottom lip. “I… I don’t want to see – I don’t want to think – about you doing it with anyone else.”

“I thought you’d be into it.”

“I was. But things…change. I think you know how it is.”

I leaned up and pressed my lips against his as an answer.

I did. I _did_. I do.


	17. breakfast at tiffany's, kind of.

_**Chapter Seventeen.** _

 

 

We didn’t have sex that night.

Not so much because we didn’t _want to_ , but more because we couldn’t. Listen, I don’t know what porn may teach you guys, but getting double-fucked? Not as easy to recover as it seems. In fact, it took me a good while to stop feeling like a train could pass through my stomach.

I honestly have no idea how porn stars do it. It must take a hell of a lot of muscle concentration.

Also, needless to say, farting was out of the question for the time being.

Derek drove us back to his place about an hour after the event was good and done for. We did not say anything through the ride, but he had his arm wrapped around me. I liked the quiet, stillness of the streets, and how the blinking lights of the lampposts cast shadows of all shapes and sizes around the buildings, giving so much to the imagination.

That was one of the very few things I enjoyed about Beacon Hills as a whole – it had this very…I want to say _Gotham_ vibe to it?  You know. Half the city had apparently burned down a couple of decades ago and most of the city center never recovered. All the buildings were old and dusty as hell; you could shoot grappling hooks into them. There was at least one abandoned mall somewhere. Sometimes in the foggy nights when the clouds cleared you could swear the sky was blood red.

It doesn’t get any more fun than that.

Of course, a lot of people had died of lead poisoning over the years, but it’s a small price to pay for living in the background scenario of a Tim Burton movie. Well, a _good_ Tim Burton movie, anyway.

“…first time I stepped here I thought I was gonna get mugged by the Riddler in the first alley I walked into”, I said, after I had voiced my thoughts on the subject to him.

Derek gave me a hearty laugh and a shoulder squeeze, but he did not move his eyes away from the road. I wondered, as I leaned my head against his shoulder, if he was dwelling into the words he had said to me earlier – about not wanting to see me with other guys.

Maybe he regretted saying them? Maybe he was scared he had given me the wrong idea?

I tried not to think of it as anything more than a passing comment. I couldn’t – I wouldn’t – allow myself to read into it any more than I should. As much as it pains me to admit it, Lydia is probably right.

I can’t let myself get caught up with something as silly as feelings.

 

* * *

 

Lydia was very adamant about taking me out the next day. So much so that I was starting to get worried if she meant taking me out to lunch or taking me out as in assassinating me. Either option was valid and welcome, but a heads-up is always nice.

And she was nice, too. Surprisingly nice. _Worrisomely_ nice? Too nice.

It was about two days after the whole event had taken place, and she called me up for a get-together on the Mexican place down on 4th and Main. She seemed awfully chipper, which I couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad sign; she didn’t even seem worried about any of the guys having found out about who Derek really was. For a long minute, while she sucked on the Slurpee she had bought on the 7-11 across the street (which she didn’t even bring one for me, by the by), I started to fear that she had had them both assassinated. I mean, it’s Lydia – she probably knows a guy who knows a guy who could make it look like an accident.

I had half a heart to start a google alert in case anyone in town had been killed in any Zamboni or coffee machine accidents recently. You know. Just in case.

“Don’t lose sleep over it”, she said, after her brain-freeze had come and gone.

“Why? Don’t tell me you ‘took care of it’.”

“Yeesh, no. Not like that. They got paid, and then I made sure to put the fear of God in both of them.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t spill the beans if someone asks them to.”

“Who would, specifically, ask these two random kids from a backwaters town if they were involved in a threesome with the boytoy of famous closeted celebrity? Seems like a very specific question”, she said, corking up an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean! What if they – I don’t know – get drunk and tell a friend or a girlfriend? Or just decide to go to TMZ and tell all? Or – or Perez Hilton! He still does that outing shit, right?”

“Perez Hilton could run naked through the streets of Hollywood and people wouldn’t care, Stiles. In fact, I think he may have already done that”, she shrugged. “Listen, there is nothing to worry about. If they are to say anything to anyone…well, I may have accidentally name-dropped someone that looks a lot like Derek, and who has the… _same inclinations_. He’s married now and he’s not around town, but with the right tweaking, it could pass as him easily.”

“Wait, who is it? Do I know who it is?”

“Probably not, but you live under a rock, anyway.”

“But isn’t it bad that you’re throwing someone else under the bus to protect Derek?”

“It would be, but first – the guy’s an asshole. Second, he’s already out. And third, he already cheats all the time. Nobody who knows him would be at all surprised if someone said he was doing the whole voyeur thing now. Besides, it’s showbiz, so who cares?”

She went back to suck on her Slurpee, while I tried to figure out who could it be. My mind kept coming up blank, though. Was it a famous person? An actor? A musician? A reality TV star? Scott would probably know, if I asked him.

Now, wouldn’t that be a fun and thrilling conversation to have.

“Like I said, nothing to fret yourself over. And don’t try to change the subject, either. You know what I want to know.”

“And what would that be?”

“Don’t play coy. I want the deets!”

“Doesn’t that gross you out, hearing about dudes’ sex and stuff?” I asked, leaning in a little closer over the table.

“What? Are you kidding me? Of course not. How do you think girls get off?”

“I don’t know. Masturbation?”

“Yeah, but _what_ do you think we masturbate _to_?”

“Isn’t that just as fetish-y as straight guys jerking off to porn?”

“Not really. There’s an entirely different power play here.”

“It doesn’t sound like that to me. Sounds like objectification all the same.”

“Look at you, using all these big words”, she reached out and squeezed my cheek. “But that shit doesn’t work on me. You gotta spill it out.”

_Persistent_ is the nicest word I could call her right now without sounding like an asshole.

I did, of course, tell her. Not everything – I’m not that stupid. And I wasn’t entirely sure how she would react to know Derek didn’t abide to her one simple rule; maybe it would shatter her confidence on his secret being safe.

And we didn’t want that, now, did you?

Though I was surprised at how easy the words rolled out of my tongue, carefully low so that nobody could hear it besides ourselves but charged with as many details as I could, I found myself unable to actually look at Lydia in the eyes. Something about the way she was staring was…disconcerting, to say the least.

It didn’t help knowing that she had seen me naked before, so she had an even more vivid picture of what had happened in her mind. I could almost see the gears in her brain rolling out my very own sextape to her. Very uncomfortable.

Not, it turned out, as uncomfortable as I was about to be.

I laid my head over the table once I was done, and turned it slightly to my right, to the giant glass windows of the restaurant – just in time, fate would have it, for me to catch a familiar sight passing by with a couple of her girlfriends. _Please don’t look this way… please don’t look this way…_ I pleaded to myself, silently, but when has any of my prayers ever really worked?

She looked, and then she saw that I was looking, and she gave me one of those extremely uncomfortable smiles. And then, to my absolute horror, she _stopped_.

Oh God. _Oh, no_.

Much to my growing dismay, she made a gesture for me to come out. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t seeing her, much as I wanted to do. I couldn’t make a room to the bathroom, either.

Damn it.

“I’ll be right back”, I said to Lydia. She corked up her eyebrow at me, her gaze suspiciously wandering towards the window. I left before she could say anything.

Heather had come to the entrance of the restaurant just as I was about to step out. Her friends were hanging back a couple of steps, not looking very fazed. “Hi there”, she said, with a wrinkled smile, her hands shoved in her back pockets.

“Hi – uh – hey there.” I said, stepping to the side so people wouldn’t shove us around.

“How are you? How’s, hm, how have you been?”

“I’m cool! I’m fine. Everything is alright. Easy peasy. What’s up on your end?”

“Fine. Everything is fine.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

We kinda fidget around a little bit; me rubbing my arm, she looking at everything except for me; neither of us saying what we wanted to say.

Actually, technically she was the one not saying what she wanted to say, given that I had nothing to say. I mean, I was not in the wrong, was I? She was the one that was…err… she was the one that freaked out. Let’s leave it at that.

Still, though, I felt like I needed to say something.

“So, about the other night…” I started.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m sorry. I know I came off sounding a little…”

“Homophobic?”

“I was going to say terrible, but I guess that, too.”

I chuckled, even if I didn’t find it funny.

“I’m not, though”, she continued, nervously. “Homophobic, I mean. I was just a little nervous, that’s all. I know you’re not gay or anything, but–”

“Well, I’m somewhere in the spectrum, actually”, I corrected.

She frowned. “You…have autism?”

“No, the – the other spectrum. The LGBT one.”

That didn’t help much.

“So you…are gay?” she insisted.

“No. Bi, probably. Maybe. I guess. I haven’t really thought about it much.”

I mean, I had, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Oh! Oh. Well. That is…totally fine.” It didn’t look or sound fine, though. I – I talked to some of my friends about what happened and –”

“You talked to your friends about it?”

“Yeah but not about _that_.”

I frowned. She gave me a half-shrug that was supposed to mean she was sorry.

Was she, though? That was a question I didn’t have an answer to.

“Maybe we can try again”, she suggested, biting down her lower lip.

I swallowed dry. “Maybe we can start…as friends.”

That seemed to take her by surprise, somewhat. “That…could work.”

“It’s just – I like you. But I…I like someone else, too. More.”

“The girl you’re with?”

I looked down, but didn’t answer.

That sounded good enough for her.

“You know what? Friends sound nice. We can start from there.”

She tugged the corner of my shirt, and I felt like she may have wanted to give me a kiss, at least in the cheek, but I felt it was better to not give her the opening.

“Heather, if you don’t come now, we’ll leave without you”, one of her friends shouted, impatiently looking at her cell phone.

“Jeez, Danny, I’m going”, she said, exasperated. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

_Please don’t_. “I’ll be waiting.”

She left, returning to her friends who all gave me strange, crooked looks. I waited at the entrance of the restaurant until they had disappeared at the corner of the street.

Lydia popped up next to me shortly thereafter.

“So, who was that?” she asked, cleaning between her teeth with the Slurpee straw.

“Nobody. A friend.”

“Really? Your conversation sounded intense.”

“You were listening?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I was.”

I sighed. Why was I even surprised at this point?

“She was a girl that I didn’t hook up with.”

“Why? Couldn’t get it up?”

“Jesus, Lydia!”

“What? It happens to me _all the time_. Half of the time I was with Jackson I had to jumpstart him with a finger in his ass.”

“And you _still_ didn’t figure out he was doing gay porn?”

“Are you kidding? Who do you think got him his first gig?”

I honestly could not tell whether or not she was being serious at that moment. I also kinda didn’t care, even if it meant Lydia had been pimping guys out since high school.

It had just dawned on me something really important.

“You know, I think…I think that was the first person I came out to.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, I did not die! no, I did not abandon the fic, either. but time has been a very...difficult thing to acquire lately, and when I have time, I lack the inspiration. but I swear the fic will have an end! in fact, there are only 8 chapters left. maybe we'll finish it before the eventually collapse of western civilization as we know it.


	18. look at this photograph. every time I do, it makes me laugh.

_**Chapter Eighteen.** _

 

 

My dad called me the day after my run-in with Heather, though one thing doesn't really have anything to do with the other. He had called to remind me that he and mom were going on their cruise. It's true that we could have just face-timed, as it’s been a while since we last saw each other, but...my dad...doesn’t really know a lot about technology. And by ‘a lot’ I mean nothing. He doesn't understand it, he doesn't try to understand it, and I'm fairly sure he still thinks 'instagramming' is a code for doing blow.

He's a good guy, though, my dad. A real, real good guy. A good cop, too – I think. I hope so. I mean, he never shot an unarmed black man in the back (or any black man, AFAIK), and he didn't join the KKK, which is how low the bar currently is, so, you know, he's doing better than many others.

Side-note about the cop thing: I’ve been watching a lot of Brooklyn Nine-Nine while Derek is working, and I had never realized how attractive Adam Samberg is. I mean...really attractive? He is kind of like an older Seth Cohen, if Seth Cohen wasn’t such a massive douchebag.

Anyway, back to my dad. I’m happy that he and mom are going on this cruise thing. It’s meant to celebrate the ten-year anniversary of mom being finally free from cancer, which I think it’s a big deal. He won the cruise on one of those competition things; he spent three weeks calling the radio station, hoping he’d get picked up. Dad was confident he was going to win it, because the question was for who could name the 10 greatest Bruce Springsteen songs of all times, and he thought it was a message from the universe – because he and mom met at a Bruce Springsteen concert some decades ago, and they even danced to one of his songs on their wedding (I saw the video, but I was blinded by dad’s hideous mustache, so I don’t remember much).

It was a very romantic tale. Part of me always wished I would get this kind of cheesy love story – you know, fall in love with someone in some dreamy setting or something, instead of just falling for a guy who pays me to blow him while we watch Family Feud (which has happened at least twice).

But I guess every love story is different, right?

I've been trying to see mine is a little more _Pretty Woman_ than usual, where I am Julia Roberts and Derek is...the other guy whose name I don't remember. What? I know it's never gonna happen, but a bitch can dream.

While we were on the phone, dad took the opportunity to catch up on the comes and goes of my life, and I did his. He told me about what was going in the precinct – there were a lot of coyote attacks lately, which was never good – and I told him a handful of white lies about what I had (not) been doing, at work and overall.

Much to my surprise, however, he didn’t seem convinced. At least judging by his next question.

“So, are you… ever going to tell me how you got that much money?” he asked.

“I told you. It was a bonus from work. Because of Christmas and all.”

“Riight.” But he didn’t sound convinced. “Stiles…are you dealing drugs?”

“WHAT? Why would you ASK me that?”

“Because I am your father, and I am worried”, he said, rather calmly I might add. “And…listen. I might be a cop, but I’m also your dad. And I know…I know college is tough. And I know you don’t wanna be in debt for the rest of your life, so…”

“So what? You would support me selling pot?!”

“I would support you doing anything, as long as it was consensual, healthy and if you hid it well enough that I don’t need to arrest you.”

“Okay, _wow_.”

I didn’t even know how to process it. Should I be proud of him? Worried about him? I even considered telling him the truth for a split second – but, you know, part of me thinks it’s better if he thinks I’m just selling MJ to some annoying rich frat kids.

“Don’t worry dad, I’m not making money illegally. I’m still at Brett’s, and I’m doing some extra work around town. There’s this movie crew downtown and they are always in need of some extra hand.”

Sometimes both and a mouth, but you know how it is.

“A movie crew, huh? What were you like, an extra?”

“Well, I did film a scene, but I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna be in the movie.”

“Damn! Really? But you know what, I always knew you were gonna be a star.”

“What? You want me to be an accountant.”

“You can be both!” he laughed. “What’s the movie about?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I think it’s a biopic or something. All I know is that this guy Derek Hale is in it.”

“DEREK HALE?!?”

The screech didn’t come from my dad – rather, it came from my mom. I don’t know if she had a sixth sense that immediately picked up on the mentioned of the name, or if dad had me on speaker, but the moment she heard the name roll out of my tongue, she had grabbed the phone and started screaming.

It took me about five minutes to calm her down.

“Is Derek Hale in Beacon Hills? How is he like? What does he smell like?!”

“Mom! Chill! How do you even know who Derek Hale is?”

“He’s my favorite actor!”

“Since when?!”

“Since he was in movie adaptation of my favorite novel! The Language of Love. He played Chris, an undergrad who falls madly in love with his college professor Samantha, but she is married and they can’t be together. He was incredible!”

“I’m gonna take your word on that.”

“Did you _meet_ him?” she insisted.

“I was in a scene with him.”

More screeching. Then my dad telling her to calm down. “Did you take pictures with him?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re not allowed to do that on set. But he’s an amazing guy…from what I heard.”

“If you say so”, my dad said, and he sounded just a wee bit bitter.

I chose to ignore him. “Hey mom, do you remember Lydia?”

“Lydia Martin? The one from the ‘Mr. Stiles Martin-Stilinski’?”

“What? That – that never happened!”

“Stiles, we all saw your journal. All three of them.”

“Okay that – that doesn’t matter. But, you know, she is his agent. Derek Hale’s agent.”

“No way, I thought she was working at the PlayPen in LA”, dad said.

“Dad!”

“What? I’m just saying.”

“I better hang up now, before this gets any worse.”

“Well, your mother just left. I think she went to bother the Martin family”, he sighed. “God knows what you brought onto us, Stiles.”

 

* * *

 

I was in the couch, playing with my phone, a couple of hours after ending that call, when Derek arrived. He looked a bit…zombiefied, dragging his feet and moaning.

“Bad day?” I asked.

“The worst”, he groaned, taking off his clothes and shoes and throwing himself onto the couch – and on top of me. “He kept finding reasons to re-do scenes, over and over, just because he thought something wasn’t aligned properly or whatever. I mean – okay, who exactly do you think you are? Wes Anderson?”

“I feel like the both could have foot fetishes.”

He laughed, burying his face on my chest. I put my phone aside, letting my fingers road through his hair instead. Derek purred.

“You know, I was wondering…” I said, after a while. “That scene I was in, do you think it’s gonna be in the movie?”

“Honestly, it’s hard to say”, he answered, with a yawn. “We aren’t about to start post-production any time soon, and it’s only then that they will start doing the proper editing. But, you know, if you want to, I can pull some strings.”

“You can, huh?”

“Yeah, you know. Talk to the director.”

I cringed at the thought. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Last thing you need is the guy starting any rumors.”

“I’m pretty sure he already knows – we were…not what anyone would call discreet in there – but I’m also pretty sure he’s not gonna say anything.”

“Okay, hold on – how can you _possibly_ know that?”

“Because, even if he is a hard-ass, he is a decent guy.”

“Right.”

“And because Lydia probably has incriminating videos of him on her phone.”

“Ah. That’s more like it.”

Derek snorted. “It’s probably for precaution. In case of a lawsuit or something. Rumor has it that he likes to get handsy with the catering staff when he can. Some of these folks are up and coming actors, and Lydia probably represents a couple of them.”

“He gets handsy with the staff and _nobody_ says anything?”

“Would you risk getting fired because you saw your married boss getting a blowjob from an employee behind a trailer? It’s very easy for someone in power to burn others; in this industry, nobody likes a tattletale.”

He tensed up on top of me, and it reminded me of that conversation we’ve had, about the Argent guy. I felt my stomach twitching. “You know, not to be a bitch or anything, but that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, but it’s…kind of how it is.”

“It shouldn’t be! I mean, the guy is married, right? What about his wife? Or husband, I don’t know. Shouldn’t _they_ know about it?”

“It’s…delicate.”

“How is _cheating_ delicate?”

“It’s… a situational thing. You spend months away from your family, sometimes in barely hospitable places, and you work the weirdest hours possible, and people around you are always very attractive…I don’t condone it, I don’t support it, and I myself would never do it, but it’s how it is. That is why no relationship in Hollywood lasts more than ten years, if that much.”

“Riiight.”

I wish he hadn’t told me that, to be honest. Now that would be the only thing I would be able to think about. If – and it was definitely a big if – Derek did really take me with him to L.A. after our time here is done, this little thought would always be gnarling at the back of my head; I know, obviously, that we would be strictly professional in our relationship, but now I had to live wondering if I would be around picking up his dry-cleaning and his coffee while he got sucked off in the back of his car by the ‘new Stiles’ of wherever it is he would be.

It’s not a nice thought.

“This, of course, only applies to straight relationships”, he added, snuggling up against my chest. “Because, as far as I know, most heterosexual relationships are based on the Avril Lavigne effect.”

“What’s that? Is it about she being replaced by a look-alike?”

“What? No, that was Kelly Clarkson. The Lavigne effect is based on the first three lyrics of Skater Boy. You’re young, but you probably heard it at some point.”

“Of course I did. You’re only five years older than me, buddy.”

“If you believe my Wikipedia page, yes”, he sneered.

“What’s that even _supposed_ to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter”, he turned to face me, his chin on my chest. “Why are you asking that? About the movie?”

“Oh, nothing – it’s just…well, I kinda told my parents about it.”

He arched an eyebrow. “ _Did_ you, now?”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t say anything compromising. But my dad was asking where the money came from, so I told him I was doing some odd jobs for the production company in town.”

“Well, your job is…definitely odd, I will give you that much.”

I circled his face with the tip of my finger, and I swear in that moment he was the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life. I understood why my mom was so crazy about him – though perhaps I shouldn’t have actually mentioned that to him.

“You know, my mom is totally like, in love with you.”

“Is that so?” he smirked. “Not that I’m surprised or anything…”

“ _Of course_ not.”

“…but why is that?”

“You were in the adaptation of her favorite novel, apparently.”

“Wait, let me guess – the Language of Love?”

“Jackpot.”

“Yeah, that move really resonate with a lot of middle-aged women. I was Jodie Foster’s love interest. In hindsight, there’s some irony in that”, he chuckled to himself. “You know, that was my third Oscar nomination – but who is counting?”

“You. You are. Definitely.”

I flicked him on the cheek. He pouted.

“She asked if I took a picture with you or anything. She’d probably frame it or something.”

“That’s cute.” But then he went quiet for a moment, pressing his lips together until they formed a fine line. “Do you…want to?”

“What?”

“To take a picture with me. Do you want to?”

I snorted. “You know we can’t.”

“I know it’s in the contract and everything, but…we already broke it once, right?”

“Sure, but we don’t want people talking, now, do we?”

“I suggested taking a picture, not posting it online. Besides, there are already pictures of us together.”

I was gonna say that, you know, the Cloud could always be hacked and shit, but I was a little taken aback by the sudden revelation of pictures of us existing. Nobody had informed me of that! “There ARE? Since WHEN? How? Why?”

“ _Relax_. _Of course_ there are pictures of us! You’re my personal assistant. There are pictures of you leaving my apartment, or of us in the car, or of you in the set. Look.”

He fished out his phone from his pocket, did a little digging around, then showed it to me. In fact, there were pictures of us – exactly from the day I didn’t have any clothes clean so I picked one with ketchup stains all over it. God.

Worst part is that they didn’t even mentioned my name on it. It was just ‘Derek Hale and assistant’.

“They did try to put your name on it”, Derek said, as though reading my mind. “But very few people can properly spell Mieczyslaw Stilinski.”

“ _You_ being one of them. The accentuation is all wrong”, I said, a little bitter, giving his phone back to him. “Shouldn’t you be a little worried? Rumors and that sort of thing?”

“Pretty much every male celebrity in Hollywood has had people questioning their sexuality at some point – but I’ve worked very, very hard to make sure these don’t last long. I was coached for years by friends and family and agents into knowing how to never let people know the truth about me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I reached out for his hand, squeezing it tight. “Did…did your family not support you?”

“Oh, no! No, my family is extremely supportive. We are very open-minded. My mom is bisexual, even, actually – and after the divorce, we even got to meet some of her…friends, you know? Jane Lynch visited a lot.”

I had no idea who Jane Lynch is, but I laughed along anyway. Wait, is she Sue from Glee? Is she gay too?!

“My uncle Peter is bisexual, too”, he continued, though with a little grimace. “I mean, he is more of a ‘does anything for a line of coke’ kind of guy, so… we really don’t know whether or not he is in the spectrum.”

“That makes two of us”, I joked. His nose wrinkled. “Shouldn’t they have maybe helped you break out of the closet, instead of guiding you into staying in?”

“Not really. My mom knew – knows – that there was no space for an openly gay teenage star. There still isn’t. She knew that if I wanted to achieve what I had aimed to achieve, there were sacrifices I needed to make – but they were there to help me every step of the way. Laura, my older sister, she…she would act as the beard of my boyfriends, so they could come and go without raising suspicions, and before she went into acting, Cora used to create fake profiles to infiltrate the fanbase and stir them into the directions she wanted my career to go, with ‘insiders’ and that kind of thing. And my mom…she taught me the rules to avoid raising questions.”

“I’m guessing they involve not being caught getting a blowjob in a restroom?”

“You’re really not gonna let that go, will you?”

“What? It’s a _hypothetical_ situation.”

He rolled eyes. “No, it’s stuff like – if you go out with friends, always go with more than one friend. Always have a girlfriend, or rumors of a girlfriend, periodically. Avoid getting caught in famously gay areas of anywhere you are. In press tours, avoid doing them with only one other male co-star. When in movies, try to act opposite women when possible; with men, make sure your more significant co-star is not a white male before-older and now-younger than me, especially not British. If I do need to have an important male connection in a movie, it needs to be a non-sexualizable relationship, preferably not one that is a rivalry – it needs to be more Harry-Ron, never Harry-Draco. Always avoid staring at your male co-star’s lips.”

“Wow. That’s – that’s a lot more than I thought. How do you even – how do you even remember all of this when you’re reading a script?”

“I don’t need to. Lydia picks the best roles for me nowadays. I trust her enough to know she’s not gonna fuck me over.”

“That’s…” Something I would never do. “Brave. But, isn’t it bad, to be denying yourself a part of who you are?”

“I’m not…denying myself of anything. I’m just... not sharing it with the world. It’s not the same thing. Do you understand?”

“Yeah – yeah, yeah, of course. You have to do what’s best for you.”

“Thanks. And thanks. For, you know, listening to me.”

“No problem. I love… talking to you.”

“I’m sure you do”, he said, with a smile, stroking my face. Something about the way he said it, though… it was almost, like, condescending? I don’t know. Did I just imagine it? “Anyway, are we gonna get that picture or not?”

I grabbed my phone from my pocket while he pulled me closer to him, squeezing me tight against him.

“Put a timer on”, he said, which I thought was a weird request – until we were counting down to three and I suddenly felt him kissing my cheek.

The surprised face I made in the picture was all too natural.

“Now I can’t send this to my mom!” I whined.

“We’re both shirtless and on a couch, Stiles. You couldn’t send this to your mom either way”, he laughed. “Come on, let’s take a couple more.”

And so we did. Some smiley ones – nothing too incriminating – some kissing, and some a little…not safe for work. Definitely the kind of pictures that couldn’t pass off as just buddies being buddies.

We took some on his cell phone, although I thought that was a little more dangerous – if they did hack him, I didn’t want him to get in trouble. He assured me he would just _not_ upload them into the Cloud, but I was still not sure if that was all it took.

Still, I didn’t miss the opportunity of catching him by surprise, by being the one doing the kissing now. Derek sure seemed to have enjoyed it.

“Just you, now”, he said, and he pulled back, his phone aiming at me. I threw my arms over my head, a little _American Beauty_ if you will. Derek ran his hands over my chest, tweaking my left nipple.

Ouch.

“Nice. Now…say something.”

“What? Like what?”

“Like…I don’t know. What about ‘I miss you, Derek’?”

“Aww. I miss you, Mr. Hale!” I shouted, blowing him a kiss. Then it hit me. “Wait, are you recording? Hey. Hey!”

He hopped out of the couch, and I chased him off to the bedroom, jumping on him and pinning his back to the bed. He seemed awfully smug with himself.

“I don’t remember videos being on the deal”, I said, snatching the cell phone away from him.

“We can always make a new deal”, Derek said, leaning up and stealing a kiss.

“That sounds like a good plan to me.”

We didn’t make a movie, by the way – but we sure had enough material for a handful of them.

 

* * *

 

I woke up, a couple of hours later, with the sound of my phone buzzing somewhere among the pile of clothes on the floor. It was already very late in the morning, so I figured it was probably Scott wondering where the hell I was now, or why I was still not sleeping at home.

To my surprise, it was a call from Derek.

“What were you doing? I called you three times”, he said, a little exasperated.

That got me nervous. And sure as hell got me woken up real quick.

“Sorry, I was asleep. Your bed is _very_ comfortable. What happened? Did somebody die?”

“What? No. Relax. Just check your messages.”

I did. Much to my surprise, Derek had sent me a picture of himself, smiling broadly and holding up a sign in front of him that read “Hi Claudia Stilinski! Thanks for your support!” plus a bunch of smiley and winky faces.

Needless to say, I almost fell out of the bed.

“Holy SHIT! Derek, what the hell! My mom is gonna totally freak! I mean, she’s totally gonna think it’s photoshopped, but wow! Thanks!”

“Oh, right. Photoshop”, he groaned on the other end of the line. “Hold on a minute. Don’t send it yet.”

And then hung up.

About five minutes later, I got a _new_ message from him – except this time around it was a video form. It was a selfie video (selfie video? What do we even call that?) of him holding the picture next to his face and repeating what was written on it.

He actually managed to say Stilinski right.

Now that...that was _definitely_ gonna give mom a heart attack. It was probably THE best gift I had ever given to her – which, to be fair, was not much, since my best gifts insofar had been stuff made out of macaroni in third grade.

I forwarded the video to her anyway, saying I had gone back to the set to get it.

Probably should’ve have thought better of it.

I think I got, like, 200 messages from mom – most in caps lock, barely intelligible – and 3 very exasperated voice messages from dad, complaining that his trip couldn’t even compare to it now. Still worth it, though, right?

 


	19. nintendo isn't the only one that switches.

_**Chapter Nineteen.** _

 

 

So, it turned out that something…not chill happened.

I decided to take a look at my grades, see how bad I went down on my classes, and… it turned out I flunked three of them. Hard. I mean, deep down I had already know this was going to happen – what else did you expect, when you hardly study and you can’t focus on your tests? – but to see the confirmation, in bright-red letters, of your failure… that is something else.

With my eyes glued to the screen of the computer, I kinda just sat there, on the couch, staring at it. Maybe hoping something would change? That there was a mistake? A last-minute saving grace? Those happen, right? But I guess only to people that deserve.

And that for sure ain’t me.

I guess a part of me was hoping I would reach a moment of clarity, and the world would unravel into answers for me. I had no idea what to do next; should I drop out of college? To do what, then? I had quite a bit of money to go around, my bank account sure was chubby, but I had no idea what to do with that money besides buying myself a new pair of sneakers. Should I invest in a start-up company? Or kickstart an app? Those are modern things people do to get money, right? Maybe I could be the next Steve Jobs!

Or maybe not. Let’s go with that one.

By then, my hopes of actually going to work _officially_ with Derek were out of the window. I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Why even indulge my fantasies of it? Besides, with what he told me, about the apparent horniness of everybody in Hollywood…maybe I wouldn’t like to go work with him. The thought of being his Pepper Potts was not a tempting one, if you know what I mean.

Ultimately, I had no idea what to do. That’s the problem of focusing all your attention on Plan A, right? When it fails, you don’t even have a Plan B set up.

And joining the circus is not even an option anymore.

(I mean, it still is, but I’m pretty sure they have their fair share of clowns as it is.)

To be fair, I feel like I always knew this would eventually happen. That the world would catch up to me. I knew I couldn’t live my whole life being above-average in everything; especially in school. I know I’m not stupid or anything, but my kind of wits is not the kind of wits that get me straight-As on my report cards. The ADHD didn’t help much, either; I don’t even remember the last time I took my pills. It’s probably been a couple of months – my insurance doesn’t cover the Adderall, exactly.

But it’s fine, I guess. It’s gonna be fine. You gotta keep telling yourself that until you either die or it becomes true.

Scott came in a couple of minutes later, though I barely noticed him walk through the door. “Whatcha doing there, buddy?”, He asked, leaning over the couch with his hands clasping my shoulders. When I didn’t answer, his eyes wandered towards the computer screen. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right”, I said, with a heavy sigh, my body sinking into the vermin-consumed couch. “I’m screwed.”

“It’s not that bad! Everybody flunks sometimes.”

“Not three classes at once, they don’t. My GPA is gonna get so low, it’s gonna match my self-esteem.”

God, even when I’m sad, I’m hilarious.

“What are you gonna do now?” He asked.

“I don’t know. I could offer a handjob to Harris, but that dickless Unsullied probably would just kick me out.”

“What about Blake? She looks like she enjoys them young and barely legal.”

“Probably. But bribing a teacher with sexual favors is creepy, and it sounds like a plotline on a CW TV show.”

“Difference is that nobody goes to jail there,” he laughed, taking the seat by me. “Hey, by the way – I’m headed to Kira’s house tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t wanna come with? Maybe eat something that isn’t fast-food or microwaved?”

“Dude, come on. I’m not gonna third wheel you on the first official reunion of the Yukimura-McCall household.”

He blushed, drumming his hands over his knees. “We haven’t… Really… Talked about surnames yet. Or marriage, for that matter.”

“Right, _riight_ ”, I said, a little skeptic. No way in hell they haven’t talked about him putting a ring on it. He probably proposed to her the first time they kissed and his foot popped like he was in _the Princess Diaries_. “Gonna take her last name, are you?”

I poked him in the ribs, but he dodged. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe. I’m a modern man, I’m open to lots of things.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. I didn’t quite get what he meant.

“Sure you are. And, just so you know, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m gonna be fine.”

“I remember you telling me the same thing when I broke my arm and you INSISTED you could do our science experiment alone, and then the next day you blew off half of your eyebrows on each side.”

“Okay, that was different! And it wasn’t even my fault!”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“Well, you are remembering it wrong”, I grunted, sticking out my tongue at him. “Besides, Lydia is in town, I will schedule something with her. For old times’ sake.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Mr. Stilinski-Martin.”

“Jesus, did EVERYBODY read my journal?”

I threw a cushion at him. He ducked, grabbed it midair, spun it around and smacked me in the face with it, like some kind of heathen. Now it was on.

Soon enough, the living room had become a battlefield, with pillows and cushions and the occasional shoe flying through the air at different speeds. I didn’t even know where some of those were coming from, but I didn’t care.

For those brief moments of fun, my academy failures were worries of the past. All I cared about was horsing around, maybe making sure I didn’t knock out a tooth – mine or his – by accident. It was like a memory of a simpler time.

Things are always simpler with Scott. Among many things I can always count on him for, knowing the right thing to do to cheer me up was always at the top. Probably, like, the top two.

 

* * * * *

 

Derek didn’t call me to tell me I should go to his place, but he _also_ didn’t call me to tell me I _shouldn’t_ go, so I assumed he was still busy at work – meaning I decided to head there anyway. If anything, even if he had another night shooting, I could still sleep over at his place. Have I mentioned his bed is several times more comfortable than mine?

“Honey, I’m home”, I joked, half expecting there to be an answer. All I got instead was the echo of the empty flat. Not even the housekeeper was around, though it seemed she had already passed by anyway.

I had never actually seen the housekeeper. She (or he, let’s not be sexist) was a ghost; a cryptid. A figure that moved in the shadows, never to be truly seen by the naked human eye. I wonder how they never came by when I was around – and I was around a lot. _A lot_. How did they know when I wasn’t there? Maybe the place had heat or motor sensors. But how did _I_ never accidentally walk into someone here?

Maybe Lydia had me chipped. That would be creepy, but in-character enough that I had to give it some thought. Also very, _very_ fifty shades of Grey. I don’t think Derek would allow that.

Then again, for what they are paying me, I’d let him tattoo a badly drawn dick on my forehead.

There is nothing against that in the contract, if you think about it.

Playing Derek’s video games was tiresome – the amount of homophobic shit 14 year olds were screaming at each other on the mics got old fast – and although Derek had a whole case full of seemly untouched books, I was not in the mood to read stuff. For what felt like a century (but was probably just about half an hour) I ended up lying there on his couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do – with my time, my money, my career, my life. So many options, so little time.

When I didn’t get an answer, I decided to do what I always do best in these hopeless situations – jerk off.

Yeah, it’s cliché, but before I met Derek all I did was cry in the shower and jerk off. Now at least I wipe my tears with 100 dollar bills.

Anyway. I grabbed lube from the nightstand, my pants were around my ankles in a jiffy, and I almost considered putting on a video to get in the mood – until I realized I had something better to focus on than a porno or my imagination; my phone wallpaper. The new version of it, anyway.

It used to be the crest of House Stark (What? Yes, I’m embarrassing), but now it was one of the pictures of me and Derek. I know, obviously, that it is dangerous, but I thought it through: first, I have two generic lockscreen decoys, and a two-step unlock process, one of which involves my fingerprint. Also, the pictures aren’t saved on the Cloud _or_ on a memory card, but directly on the phone, so even if someone steals my phone, I can just use the self-destruct system. No, the phone doesn’t blow up (although… that would be cool) but it deletes everything off of it. Technology is crazy when you know how to use it (and also when you have money to buy something other than a flip phone).

Now I could carry Derek with me anywhere I went.

I focused on his face as I stroke myself; ruggedly handsome, those kaleidoscope eyes that made me lose myself in them. I could almost feel his beard, always perfectly trimmed, rubbing against the sensitive skin of my thighs, his tongue flickering against the underside of my dickhead; I groaned just thinking about his tongue on me, _in_ me, and the sensation of his hands tracing my body, the tip of his fingers drawing circles around my nipples, nails digging on my hips as I trust them against his face.

God. It was so good. So good. I could almost feel his hand on me.

Wait, no. Hold on.

There _was_ actually a hand touching me!

Took me a second to realize that a different set of fingers had taken hold of dick, and only when I threw my hands over my head was that I noticed I wasn’t actually using them.

“Holy _shit_! Derek?!”

I almost jumped out of the couch (and my skin), eyes shot wide-open. It was, thank God, actually Derek standing in front of me.

He had an awfully snarky smile on. “Who else did you expect? The cleaning lady?”

“Fuck off! I was half-scared of that, yeah!”

Derek rolled eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nigel always warns them if someone is still over.”

Oh. Oh, right. The doorman. A much simpler explanation than me being chipped – and _almost_ as convincing.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here already, but it looked like you were having fun”, he continued, his eyes wandering down my still raging boner, his tongue circling over his upper teeth. “You need help?”

“You need to ask?”

“Always good to.”

He flashes me one of those smiles that make my knees buckle. His shirt is off by the time I reach for the lube, but he doesn’t want to continue in the couch.

“Let’s stain those Lenin sheets”, Derek says, and God - how could I ever say no?

I’m the first one to get there. He takes off his jeans, the fine fabric of the underwear bulged to its limited over the pulsing dick. I wish I could take a picture of him, strutting towards me, Apollo himself jealous – of Derek for being Derek or of me for having him, I didn’t know.

He throws his underwear at me, and the smell is intoxicating. I want him so badly, I think a vein of my dick may burst.

“Someone is eager”, he says, climbing on the bed. His finger collects the pearly drop leaking out of the slit; he licks it clean, and I have to strangle a noise out of my throat.

“Someone is a tease”, I fire back. He smirks.

When he leans on top of me for a kiss, I wrap my arms around him, and I almost don’t want to let him go. I wanted to enjoy that single moment – but I knew there was a much better reward coming.

He kissed down my collarbones, scrapping his teeth all the way down so it left a mark. Good thing Scott wouldn’t be around to notice.

His mouth reached between my legs, and I bit my lower lip, cursing myself for not trimming before – but he didn’t seem to care, taking all of me into his mouth, his tongue teasing that magic spot that I mentioned before.

I arched my back. Groaned. Moaned. Whimpered. Grabbed the sheets, the back of his head, the headboard; he licked and sucked and let it rub against his face while he took my balls into his mouth, until he had me begging for mercy.

And I was. Loudly.

“I like it when you say my name like that,” he said, standing up straight. With him between my legs, his cock pressed against mine.

There was a difference – noticeable – of size and thickness, but I didn’t care; all my brain could focus on was the feeling of them rubbing against each other.

“I wanna try something out”, Derek said. “Close your eyes.”

I did. I closed my eyes and arched my back up, waiting until I felt him pushing his way into me.

What I felt was… something else.

Derek’s hand was running over my dick, covered in the coldness of the lube, while I felt his weight on top of my hips as he straddled his legs at my side.

“Oh my God”, I whispered, and I couldn’t keep my eyes closed.

“Didn’t say you could look yet”, he said. He was biting down his lower lip, his other hand – also covered in lube – working on his ass.

That took me completely by surprise. I had never…I could never even imagine Derek as being a ‘bottom’. I don’t know; something about the way he looks, with all those muscles and that big ass dick. Until then, I couldn’t even picture us swapping places.

I guess _he_ could.

“Are you - are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, nervously.

“Yeah, but I – I haven’t done this in a while. We have to go slow.”

“How long is a while?”

“Years-while.”

Oh my _God_.

I felt him positioning himself on top of my dick, pushing his way down. He was so tight – God, so _freaking_ tight - that I didn’t even think it would fit.

But it did. Oh boy, it sure did.

It was warm and welcoming inside of him, and I understood – in that moment, I understood what he felt when he was with me, and how he never wanted to not be there; my mind had turned into loud white noise, and the world was blinking all around me. Is that what happens when you die?

Well, I didn’t die, but I sure was in heaven.

Derek was… getting there. His face went from grimacing to grinding his teeth, and the little noises coming out of his mouth sounded something half-way through a yelp and a moan.

I reached for his chest, but instead he took my hands into his, intertwining our fingers and pinning them down on the bed. He leaned in, his forehead on mine, and when I looked into his eyes, I knew he wanted to tell me something. I knew _what_ he wanted to tell me, ‘cause it was the same thing stuck at the back of my throat.

But he didn’t say it. Neither did I. Instead, we kissed against, as he started to work his hips up and down.

A slow process, but I wasn’t in a rush. With him, I had all the time in the world.

  
* * * * *

 

“Derek?” I called out, softly. He, lying next to me with his arms around my waist, left out a sleepy grunt so I could know he was awake. “Are you gonna spend the holiday with your family?”

“Huh?”

“The holidays. Are you heading back home?”

“Unlikely.”

“Why is that?”

“Well”, he rolled out, lying on his back. I turned over to cuddle on his chest. “For starters – they are scattered everywhere. My mom is in Europe directing a Netflix TV show; she thinks she is too old to get roles other than ‘mother’, so she wants to branch out. My dad is… complicated.”

“Why is that?”

“He doesn’t like when I mention that his new wife is three years younger than me, and I like to mention that a lot,” he smirked.

That was fair.

“What about your sisters?”

“Cora is doing the press tour for her movie, and Laura chained herself to some tree in South America.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“She’s doing an activism thing. Mostly just a distraction, though.”

That sounded worrisome. “From… What?”

“She got caught making out with some 16 year prodigy child star. According to her, she didn’t know the kid’s age, but people don’t usually care about that – so now she is trying to defuse the situation by tying herself to a tree on the Amazon forest in protest of…I don’t know exactly, I didn’t read her email properly.”

“That sure is a lot to take in.”

He chuckled. “I’ve heard you say that before.”

I hit him in the chest. “Shut up. Or else how you gonna know if I’m not gonna tell the Daily Mail all of the Hale’s dirty laundry?”

“‘Cause I trust you”, he said, kissing my forehead.

“Aw. That’s sweet.”

“Yeah. And also –”

“Lydia would burn down my house. I know. Don’t ruin the moment.”

“What about you, though? What about your family?”

“My parents are doing a cruise this year. It’s my mom’s tenth anniversary of beating cancer, so they want to celebrate.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t – I didn’t know your mother was sick.”

“I don’t remember much of it either anymore. Don’t want to, anyway. But since she got back on her feet again, every year she and dad go someplace fancy to celebrate. This year it’s in this Bruce Springsteen cruise, since they met in one of his shows and that wanted it to be special.”

“That’s romantic. For a while I thought my parents had a similar story, but it turned out they met doing coke on the backstage of a Billy Joel concert. That’s why they named my sister Laura.”

“And people say romance is dead.”

“Might as well be. Why are you asking, though? About the holiday?”

“Oh, I just – I thought – maybe if you were going to stay in town, and I’m not going anywhere either, maybe we could do something. You, me, maybe Lydia as well.”

“Wouldn’t you think Lydia would prefer to go home?”

“You haven’t met Lydia’s family, have you?”

She had invited me over once because she didn’t want to be alone with her relatives on Christmas. It was a…let’s call it a ‘traumatizing experience’.

“In this case, I think…yes. Maybe we could do something. Something fun.”

“Derek Hale? Doing something fun? That just sounds unrealistic.”

“Is it, now?” he rolled over, his full weight on top of me. “And here I was, thinking of ways we could have fun in the meantime.”

I pouted, trying to sound disappointed. “Guess you’re gonna have to show me now, so I can believe you.”

He threw the sheets over us. “If you insist…”

 


	20. the lo(v/n)eliest time of the year.

_**Chapter Twenty.** _

 

 

The thing about Christmas is that, for a long time, it didn’t mean good news for me. It’s a bad time of the year for kids who don’t have parents that can afford to give them nice stuff – is a particularly worse when you live around kids like Allison, or Lydia, or Jackson, who have parents that _can_. I’m not saying they rubbed in our (Scott and I’s) faces, except maybe Jackson because Jackson was an asshole, but it was still nonetheless not a good feeling.

This year, though…this year would be different.

Not only could I give myself a nice fat present, I could also give presents off to everybody that I cared about – something I had always told myself I would do, once I had the chance. And now I did.

Mom insisted I didn’t need to get her anything; she had framed the Derek picture as if it was an autographed poster, and dad told me she was showing the video to everybody she knew and some. Mr. Noah Stilinski, on the other hand, was reluctant to even accept anything, up until I suggested getting him a new golf club, so that maybe he could beat Parrish the next time they played. That would never happen, of course, because dad just really sucked at playing golf, but it would give him a self-esteem boost for sure.

Now, all I had to do was figure out presents for…well, everybody else. But I knew someone that could help me out on that front.

“Of course I will help you with your Christmas shopping, pumpkin”, Lydia said. “As long as you are getting me something.”

“Of course I am.”

“And are you getting _Derek_ anything?”

I bit my lip down for a moment, pondering my answer. That was all she needed to know. With an ‘I’ll be right over’, she hung up on me – but sure enough, in ten minutes time, my doorbell was ringing.

 

* * * * *

 

“Okay, so”, she said, tying her hair back into a ponytail with one hand, while scrolling down her notes app with the other; how, don’t ask me. “Have you made a list of who is getting presents already?”

“Not…really. I mean, there aren’t a lot of people to gift, really.”

“Right”, she crooked an eyebrow. “Remind me again of who they are, exactly.”

“Well, hm, I already gave my mom a gift –”

“Derek mentioned. So did my mother. And my sister. And the twenty-five notifications I got on Facebook.”

I blushed. “I’m not really sure what get to my dad, though.”

“What does your old man like?”

“I don’t…know. Books, I guess? Or…I guess he still plays golf with Paris every once in a while?”

“Does Jordie still kick his ass?”

“Yep. But dad’s always complaining that the clubs did it.”

“There you go, then. Buy him some fancy new clubs.”

“And where exactly do you think I’m gonna find golf clubs in this place?”

Downtown Beacon Hills – the place we were strolling down at that very moment – was hardly the commercial zone. In fact, because the main source of attraction town was the university, and given the university is full of former teenagers who ain’t got a penny in their pockets, the amount of available commerce was…restricted, to say the least; even more so during winter time, when the few people living in town took off back to wherever it was they came from. We didn’t even have any snow to at least make the place a little more bearable – all we had was that infernal Heat, melting the pavement.

I think Lydia knew that, and she just wanted an excuse to hang out with me. I wonder if she got lonely a lot; she was always going from one place to the other, always on the phone, but I don’t think she had a lot of friends to spend time with. I mean, hell, despite being our ‘Queen Bee’, her circle of friends was never much larger than my own – and that is saying a lot.

My point was kinda proven by what she say right after, with a dismissive hand-wave. “Don’t worry, what we don’t find here we can just order online. Now, who else is on this list of yours?”

“Scott and Kira would be next.”

“Tough one. What does Scott like?”

“Kira, mostly. I was thinking of giving them wedding rings as early presents.”

“Wow. That – that’s…pretty forward. Maybe too forward. You don’t even know if it will last.”

Hah. She really didn’t know a lot about Scott and Kira. “Trust me, it will.”

“Still. A _little_ too forward. Besides, why spend money on expensive rings when cheaper ones are much better?”

She says that because it’s not her ring. “Would _you_ want a cheaper ring?”

“Absolutely not, but the difference is that, if I ever get married, I’m not marrying anyone with a net worth smaller than Taylor Swift’s.”

I didn’t even know what that means.

“Okay then, what do you suggest for him?”

“He’s still got that motorcycle of his, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“That’s all he posts on Facebook. The only thing he loves more than that bike is Mrs. McCall and Kira, it seems.”

“To be honest, you’re probably not wrong.”

“So maybe you could give him a new helmet, and a jacket to match. Maybe buy a pair for him and Kira.”

“Aw, that would be cute.”

“Yes, and probably as disgustingly sappy as any other relationship”, she rolled eyes. “Let’s put it on the list anyway. Who else?”

“Well…you would be next.”

“Baby, that’s sweet, but you can’t afford me.”

“Harsh.”

“But true. What you could do was maybe try to convince Derek to give me a raise. You know, shake that ass, make him drop some coins in my pockets.”

I left out a strangled noise that scared one of the old ladies passing us by. “Can you maybe not use that kind of language?”

“Sensitive. But fine. As long as you do it.”

“I will. That leaves only…Derek.”

“Seriously? Nobody else? You have no other friends aside from us?”

“No, I mean – there is Erica, and Greenberg, and Boyd –”

“You mean the guy you fucked.”

“ _Yes_. He is a friend, sort of.”

“What about that girl? The one you were talking to, the other day?”

“Heather? We…are kinda friends. Maybe could have been more. I don’t know. It would be weird to send her a gift.”

“Yeah, but just be low-key about it”, she shrugged. “Send something like – not a box of chocolates, that’s too romantic – maybe something like a card. Not a dollar store card, but not something too expensive, either. Something that says ‘I was thinking of you, but I didn’t want to spend any money on you’. It’s a start.”

“It’s a weird start. And I don’t even know if something is ever gonna come out of that.”

“You should pursue it. It would be good for you.”

“Arguable.”

“No, it’s not. Listen, we’re a couple of weeks away from your contract ending, and you gotta have a fallback plan. I know you are in the process of discovering things about yourself, and I think that’s great, but investing yourself in a relationship will be a good way to keep yourself from, uh, getting too caught up on this.”

She didn’t spell it out for me, but I knew exactly what she meant. Lydia had one rule – don’t fall in love with Derek – and that was exactly the rule that I chose to ignore, even if not by choice. She probably didn’t know about it yet (otherwise why would I still be alive?), so she was still doing the best she could to protect me.

Kind of useless, at this point, but I guess I have to indulge her.

“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, let’s circle back to Derek’s gift. What do you give to a guy who already has everything?”

“Excellent question, young Padawan. I have been asking myself this for years.”

“What do _you_ give him every year?”

“I don’t know. Shitty stuff. Clothes. He never wears them.”

“Maybe you just don’t know his style.”

“Right, because jeans and a t-shirt are a mystery to my frail little female mind.”

“Hey now! That’s not what I mean.”

“I know, but I like to see your squirm.”

She bumped me in the shoulder, playfully.

“This doesn’t really help me, though.”

Her nose wrinkled. “There really is not good answer for this. I know Derek like the palm of my hand, and I still can’t think of anything that would be good for him – especially not on your budget.”

“God. Maybe I should just wrap myself in a red bow and drop under the tree for him.”

She laughed. “You know, that may _just_ work. You wanna get a coffee?”

Perhaps by instinct, we had wandered down to the old coffee shop where we always met. I took a quick moment of pause; I hadn’t stopped by since before the threeway, which meant I hadn’t seen Danny the Barista since the threeway itself. Did he still remember it? Of course he remembered it. Did he know it was me? Did it matter?

More importantly – did I want to find out?

“We can go somewhere else, if you want”, she said, but I shook my head.

“‘Sokay. What do you want to drink?”

We stepped into the coffee shop, and the smell of roasted beans invaded my nose in a way that was almost intoxicating. A tiny part of me was hoping that Danny wasn’t around, but I could already spot him behind the counter – and he could see me too.

But I was not entirely sure that was a good thing.

“Get me a Frappuccino and a croissant, would you? I’m gonna get us a table”, Lydia was quick to say, slipping away from me before I could stop her.

“Why? There’s barely anybody here!” I groaned.

“You can never be too safe”, she chirped.

I hate her.

So I waited in line, trying not to make eye contact with it. I could still catch him looking at my general direction whenever he finished with a costumer, though. I could _feel_ his eyes on me.

By the time by turn came around, I could barely even lift my head.

“Been a while, Stiles”, he said.

“Been busy.”

“Imagined”, he said, with a chuckle. “The usual?”

“yeah, uh, and a – a double chocolate-chip frap for my friend. And some of these ham and cheese croissants.”

“Coming right up!”

I rocked myself back and forth on the heels of my feet while I waited, already at the side of the line. There was only a girl in a hoodie behind me in line, and she seemed busy enough with her phone that she would probably not notice if he mentioned anything.

But he wouldn’t. Mention anything. Would he?

“Here’s your latte”, Danny the Barista said, with a devilish little grin, and he startled me so much I almost jumped out of my skin. “I made it the way you like it – double, with extra thick foam.”

I managed to choke out a weak ass ‘thank you’, before I grabbed the tray and bolted my butt to the table.

I guess he would.

“He knows. He knows it was me. On that day. In the threeway”, I spit out, nervously, the moment I reached Lydia.

Lydia seemed...less concerned. “So?”

“So?!” I groaned, in a whispered tone. “What if he tells anyone?!”

“Who _would_ he tell?”

" _I don’t know_! His _costumers_? His _friends_?"

“Right. And how many of these do you know personally?”

“I’m...not sure.”

“Exactly”, she said, leaning back on the chair. “Besides, _what_ would he tell? ‘Stiles Stilinski had a gay experience in college’? 90% of the frat guys in this campus had one or more. It’s not a big deal.”

“I don't think those numbers are accurate.”

"You would be surprised. The only difference between you and them is that you never woke up with cum leaking out of your asshole, in bed with three strange dudes without remembering the entire Spring Break weekend.”

“Why are your fantasies always so weirdly specific?”

“I didn’t say they are fantasies”, she said, sipping her drink. Hell, what then? Was she talking about Derek? Didn’t sound like a Derek kind of thing, but how can we know? “Besides, it’s 21st century! People have gay experiences! It’s the new normal! Even your dad probably got nasty with some dude at some point.”

“What? Jesus, no! My dad is married. And straight!”

“Like that has stopped anyone before”, she chuckled.

“God, Lydia. Why would you even _think_ that?”

“‘Cuz he’s probably had – has – gay dudes all over him. I mean, he’s a hot dude.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“What? He is! And so is your mom. You should take it as a compliment, pal. If you are half as attractive as both of them combined when you are their age, I may even take in consideration any of the twelve marriage proposals you made me in school.”

“Hold on, I never proposed to you in high school.”

“Oh, please. I’ve read your diary.”

“Wha – whe– it was a JOURNAL!”

“Same shit”, she shrugged, taking another slurp.

Good. Great. Wonderful. Now I had to live both with the fact that half of my town had apparently read my journals – and Lord knows all the shit I put in there – but now Lydia had implanted the idea of my dad getting hot and bothered with some dude. Fantastic. The mental image of Deputy Parrish bending over his desk or on his knees in front of my dad was literally all I needed to ruin my year. More material for therapy, I guess.

Now I understood why Derek’s safe-word is “daddy”.

I had to do a deep cleaning to get these images out of my head. In the meantime we had other stuff to talk about.

“Speaking of gifts and stuff…has Derek talked to you about what we had discussed?” I asked, slurping down half of my coffee in one go.

“About…?”

“Getting me a job in LA.”

“I’m sorry, _what_ now?”

She almost chocked on her croissant, which honestly was hilarious, but I chose not to laugh.

“I may have suggested to Derek that he could hire me as an actual personal assistant once you guys go back to LA”, I said, almost hiding my face behind my cup.

“Okay…but why?”

“I don’t know…it’s complicated.”

“And I’m all ears.”

I bit down my lip, before starting my tales of woe. She listened with attention, her head resting over her hands; I could not decipher what was going on in that little head of hers, which was…not unusual, when it comes to Lydia.

After what felt like a lifetime of thinking, she finally seemed to make up her mind.

“You know what… I think it may be a good idea.”

“What? Really? Seriously?”

“Yes. If you are sure this is what you want with your life.”

“Wow. I thought you’d be opposed to it.”

“That would make me a hypocrite. I mean, I also went through what you are going through – I had finished high school, I was set to college, but I didn’t want to waste 4 years of my life doing Psychology, so I grabbed my savings, swapped my ticket to New York and went there without telling my parents. I lived there for working as a waitress in a shitty stand-up bar, until I heard one of the comedians in there – a friend of mine – saying he had got an audition, but didn’t have an agent. I saw an opportunity there and I took it…and it led me all the way here.”

“And you think I will be as lucky?”

“Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

I sunk on my chair. “Damn, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Don’t take it like that, pumpkin. Everybody’s got a different life. You will not go down the same road I did, but that doesn’t mean you won’t succeed. Worst case scenario, at least you got a fallback plan, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“Great! Listen. Today was fun. We should do it some other time. But I need to head out.”

“Okay, sure. Cool, cool, cool. Thanks for the help.”

“No problem. I will send you a link to the stuff I buy and the bill. And if I can think of anything you can give to Derek…I will let you know.”

“Thanks. Hey, before you go – are you gonna go home on Christmas?”

“To see my sister and her junkie of a boyfriend trying to sell another pyramid scheme to my mother? Hard pass.”

“Well, then, would you like to spend the holiday with me? And Derek? Maybe we can have dinner together or something.”

Her eyebrow stood up again, as did she. “An interesting offer. Let me mull it over, and I will answer you.”

“It’s not like you got a lot of options, you know.”

“You’d be surprised”, she said, and at this point? I wouldn’t.

She disappeared out of the coffee shop soon enough, which meant I was left by myself. The number of people around the place was dwindling, too. In other others, I was practically alone there with Danny the Barista.

Which was…not exactly where I wanted to be at that moment.

So I bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems we have reached the last lap of the fic! Only 5 more chapters (+ the epilogue, told through Derek's POV) to go. I'm not making any promises or anything, but my goal is to update at least once every 3 weeks, so that the fic can be over before the end of the year. But, again, I'm not making any promises! Thanks for sticking around so far :)


	21. timing is everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit of a, uh, straight sex scene half-way through the chapter. It doesn't last long, but if it's not something you're into...beware and be aware. :p

_**Chapter Twenty-One.** _

 

 

So even after two days, I still couldn’t figure out what I could get Derek.

All other presents were fine and dandy – Lydia sent me links for me to approve, I sent her an ‘okay’ and she programmed them for Amazon’s same-day delivery to hand them out on Christmas (how the present was gonna get my parents on the cruise, God only knows, but if anything, I trust Lydia enough to get the job done).

But Derek’s present…still a road block. What can you get a guy that already has everything he wants, and more?

I guess I could just buy him something expensive and shiny and that would be it; but where is the passion? Where is the personal touch? I wanted it to be something that he would cherish. Something he could look at when I was no longer with him, and immediately remember me. Maybe even get a boner, just at the thought.

Except…see, I’m not a creative person per se (and that, here, means ‘at all’). So the more I struggled to put thought into images, the more I came up blank.

Ultimately, I realized that it was a fruitless effort. There was really nothing I could give Derek. At least nothing material.

But there was one thing left. The thing Lydia and I had talked about during our get-together. The ribbon thing.

Now, I know, that’s a stupid gift – but it was also an original gift! Something unique, if you will. Also, it could serve as a pre-gift, before I goaded him into telling me what he wanted.

So I called Lydia, and asked to know which day he would be leaving the set early, so I could be prepared. Two days before Christmas’ Eve, to be exact. It, perhaps, should have been my clue when Derek himself didn’t tell me he was gonna leave early on the aforementioned day, but given he had already come to expect me hanging out at his apartment, I figured nothing was out of the ordinary.

Probably shouldn’t have told the doorman not to tell him I was around, though.

I went up to his apartment, got naked in his bed and got the ribbons ready – around my legs, my waist, my dick, my chest, and I was gonna tie around my hands, but I thought it would be better if I let it as a last-minute kind of thing. Then I laid down and waited.

And waited.

And waited a little more.

 _Probably should’ve timed this a little better_ , I thought to myself, struggling to get my cellphone from my pants on the floor. At least I had my Facebook feed to check out, which was mostly just a bunch of people I hardly knew doing things I didn’t care about. And babies. So many babies. Why did these people have so many babies?

Felt like every girl I went to high school with had at least a small litter at home. Kathelyns and McKingleys and Asheghlies or however you spelled it. I mean, obviously I’m the last person to walk this Earth that could make fun of someone’s name, but at least I know deep in my heart that I would never name one of my kids some shit like Arshenby or Tatum.

Among the sea of momzillas, I spotted a happy couple. Erica and Boyd seemed to be back together, and happier than ever; they were spending winter break in Hawaii, it seemed. Nice play. Spending that good coin. They deserved it.

I wondered if he told her. I wondered if any of us would ever tell anyone. I mean, just thinking about it is already surreal enough as it is, it’s hard to think somebody else would believe it if we said we got paid to have a gay threeway in front of a recluse and mysterious rich sugar daddy.

I mean. I’m pretty sure the CW never had a plotline like this.

Scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, I had almost started to doze off, when I was rudely awaken by the sound of the door opening, and…giggling?

It took me about fifteen second to realize Derek was home – and that he wasn’t alone. Time enough for me to roll out of bed and onto the floor, where I had planned to stay, had my curiosity not gotten the best of me.

So I got up and creeped close to the door, where I could take a quick look through a crack to see what was happening on the other end. I wish I hadn’t.

Derek was getting stripped quickly, by the very agile hands of his co-star. His _female_ co-star. Braeden was getting naked very fast too, as they kissed and stumbled onto the couch, a mess of arms and legs. Their clothes were flying everywhere.

It was like one of those train wrecks, where you know where it’s headed, and you know it’s gonna happen, but you can’t peel your eyes away from it. You gotta see it to believe it. Witness it with your two own eyes as it unfolds.

And it did.

Derek kissed her, down her lips and her breasts, until he got between her legs. He was using that magic tongue that I had grown to know so well, in ways I – judging both by my historic with the ladies and the way Braeden was moaning – probably didn’t know how.

Not for nothing, but homegirl was…really, really loud.

She moaned and groaned and twisted and turned and _shivered_ under his tongue, grabbing him by the hair and dragging her nails across the cushions, ‘til her voice turned into static white noise.

Watching the scene play out, aided by the dim lights of the apartment and the general feeling of voyeurism only helped strengthen by horniness, and before I knew it, my hand had found its way to my dick – but by then it was already too late to stop myself from jerking off. Worst part is that I couldn’t tell if I was more jealous of him, or of her.

Oh God. Oh God. _Oh, God_.

I had to cover my mouth with my free hand, trying to keep myself from both cumming and revealing my location; a problem she clearly didn’t have, as she reached the world’s loudest orgasm.

I always thought that porn stars faked those moans to get people to think tha they were having more fun than they seemed, but after this I'm just starting to question my game.

I mean... Fuck. Could I even possibly blame her?

I heard her heavy sigh as she melted into the couch, her fingers slipping away from Derek's hair as he came up for air, trailing his way to kiss her.

“Should we go for round two?” she suggested. “In your bedroom?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Are they coming over? Am I about to get caught? What should I do? Should I hide under the bed? Am I really gonna have to listen to Derek loudly dick this girl down on top of me?

“We can do it here”, he suggested, and I was praying to God they wouldn’t do it at all.

And you know what? I think He may have just listened, because before Derek could spin her around and give it good to her, the Lord – and I’m not very religious, but I could only believe it was Him – decided to intercede, through a perfectly timed phone call.

“Hold on, I gotta take this”, she said, before she sprinted to a corner of the room with the phone pressed to her ear.

Thankfully – and I _was_ thankful as hell for that – it wasn’t the case of anybody dying or anything, otherwise I would have felt like shit; but from what I could gather, there was a ‘hot coffee incident’ going on with her agent or a friend or something, and she was the girl's contact number. Weird, but who am I to say anything?

I was just hoping that Brett’s wasn’t involved, ‘cause if I know anything about Brett is that he likes to make us boil the coffee extra hot so it can stay hot for longer, but also to melt the skin of someone’s finger off. Took me a whole three months to get it to grow back.

But, I mean, it probably wasn’t anything _that_ extreme, right?

“I gotta go baby, but we’ll definitely finish this off later, okay?” she said putting her clothes back on. She was out of there faster than I could say ‘blue balls’.

Not that _I_ was gonna say anything. Not me, no sir. I was gonna stay very quiet, curled up in one corner of the room, hoping that Derek would go to the bathroom so I could get dressed and pretend I was just arriving at the apartment.

It was a ridiculous ass plan, but then again, so was dressing up like a gift and yet, here we are.

 _Maybe I should hide under the bed_ , I thought. Not that it would do me any good at that point.

“You can come out now,” Derek said, from the living room. I didn't move. Maybe he was talking to someone else? A ghost? “ _Stiles_.”

Shit.

“How did you even know I was in here?” I asked, hopping from the bed to the living room. Probably should’ve untied my feet first.

He was fighting really hard not to laugh. “Doorman gave me a nod on the way in”, he said, coming towards me. “Also – it’s a glass door.”

“It’s frosted glass.”

“It’s _still_ glass”, he chuckled. “Can you imagine what would’ve happened if she _had_ gone to the bedroom and caught you like this? And what – _is_ this?”

“I was trying to surprise you. You know, it’s Christmas and all –”

“Oh,” his grin grew wider. ‘So you were _gifting_ yourself to me.”

“Yeah. It worked better in my head”, I groaned, pressing my head against his chest. Then I remembered I should be mad at him. “Now, YOU were the one that surprised me, though.”

“Did I, now? What for?”

“You told me you were gonna break up with her!”

“Oh, yeah. Right. I was...going to. But you see, things kind of...got in the way.”

“Sure. So, instead, you decided to bury your face between her legs? I thought you were gay.”

“I _am_.”

“You sure eat pussy like a straight guy never could.”

“Not all my ex-boyfriends had penises, Stiles. I had to learn a thing or two.”

“That explains it, but does not justify it. You should not still be tricking her like this.”

“I know. I know. I will work something out. Now, about this gift you were supposed to be giving me...”

He traced the red ribbon down around my neck, down my chest and into my limpy dick. I winced a little when it stiffened in his hand, still a little sore.

“Seems like you enjoyed the show, huh?” he asked, pulling me closer to him. I groaned as a positive answer. “How come I’m the only one not having fun tonight?”

“We still got – hmm – plenty of time.”

“That we sure do. Now, how about I unpack this gift?”

He picked me up – quite literally, like I was a feather – and dragged me back to the bedroom, where he threw me over the bed. I closed my legs, in fake attempt at purity, but he had no problem in pulling them apart.

“The ribbon work here was a little shoddy, don't you think?” he asked, and when he pulled on it, the ribbon ripped under his finger with an easiness that was a little concerning.

“It was a one-man job, buddy, I did what I could”, I joked. Derek seemed to pull most of the ribbon off, but he left one place in particular semi-intact – actually, I think that instead of untying my dick, he wrapped more ribbon around it, making the knot a little tighter.

Not enough to hurt, of course, but enough to make me look at him with a puzzled expression.

That little smirk told me I was in for a treat.

“You _did_ put this whole operation in danger, now, didn't you?” he said, reaching out for the lube on the nightstand. “So I guess you need to be taught a lesson on how to be more...patient.”

“I thought we already did the whole tying up deal”, I winced, as he pressed his way into me.

“To _me_ , yes. Now it's your turn.”

With his weight on top of me, Derek had my legs bent until my knees were touching my chest; he kissed me, pinning me against the bed as he began to move his hips, long trusts that hit right into that sweet spot. I soon understood why he had my dick wrapped up, though.

I was very hard again, very fast – and the ribbon made sure I stayed that way. It also made sure that I wouldn't come, no matter how much I wanted to.

And I did. Oh, I did.

My arms were around his neck, pulling his hair, his body, his everything closer to me; the memory of him and Braeden fading fast. It was a ruse. _This_ was where he was meant to be; with me, in me, on me. Everything else was background noise.

He pulled back to look at me, biting down his lower lip, his eyes clouded with thought. To my surprise, I soon found myself being lifted by the waist until I was in the air, sitting on his lap - without pulling us away from each other. Derek backed away slowly, until he found the armchair, where he planted himself firmly.

“Wow, that was impressive”, I said, leaning back, my hands on his knees.

“Cool move, right? I learned it in one of my movies.”

Hopefully not one that my mom watches. My dad’s spine would not be to pull this off.

“Better than your parallel parking, that's for sure.”

“Hey now!” he groaned, squeezing my dick. I whimpered a little.

But the whimpering turned into moans, as I threw my head back and began moving my hips, my nails digging deep on his knees for support. One of his hands was on my hip, while the other roamed freely over my chest, wrapping his long fingers around my neck.

His thumb traced my chin and my lips. I kissed it, softly, before taking it in my mouth. Not as good as his dick, but it was a start.

The weird part was that I could still smell – taste – her on him. So strongly it was intoxicating. She was still in his lips, like bitter coffee, when I leaned forward and kissed him again, my arms around his neck. He gasped against my mouth, his teeth scrapping gently on my bottom lip; thrusting upwards, his hips slapped against mine. Then again. And faster.

I barely had time to hold my footing before the onslaught began. My dick was pressed against his abs, and the friction was driving me out of my mind.

Derek realized this, ‘cause he snapped the ribbon off and took it on his hands, freeing it from its confinement.

I was already over the edge enough as it was. It didn’t take me long to blow.

When I came, I did it with moans against his ear, while I squeezed him inside of me, ‘til I had milked him dry; my jizz splashed against his abs, hitting all the way up to his neck.

I saw stars in that moment. I saw...the entire universe, basking in the glory of Derek's eyes, begging for me to join them.

“Fuck”, I said, in a barely contained whisper. “God. Fuck. I love you.”

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what words had just rolled out of my tongue. Only when the room grew awfully silent - even his breathing had suddenly gone quiet - was that it dawned on me that I had...well...fucked up.

“You know, all this fucking kinda gave me a headache”, Derek said, after a long while. “I think we should, uh, we should call it a night for today.”

“What? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I just...” he lifted me up and off of him, making us both stand up. “My head is banging like a train. You should take the rest of the night off while I sleep this headache away.”

“You’re...kidding, right? Is this about what I just said? ‘Cause I - I was joking. I didn’t – I didn’t –”

I couldn’t say I didn't mean it, because I did. I had. I meant every word. And he knew that. That was why he couldn’t even properly look at me, his eyes shifting away from mine.

"Of course I do – of course I know. But this headache – it’s just. It’s really, something else.”

“I’m betting. Come on, Derek, can’t we at least talk about this?”

“There is nothing to talk about. Like you said, you were just joking, right? I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Can I at least join you?”

“Best not.” He squeezed my shoulder to go past me, giving me what was possibly the world's fakest, shittiest smile.

I tried to follow him, but he was quick to hide into the bathroom, still pretending he was gonna take a shower, except I didn't hear any goddamn water running.

Instead there was the silence. So loud it was almost suffocating. I considered waiting there, until he grew the balls to come out and talk to me like a proper, adult person, but I knew this was not going to happen; he was gonna stay there, hidden in the bathroom, probably eating the half bar of sneakers I had left there the other day, because if there is one thing I knew Derek had to face, was the truth.

But if that was how he wanted it to play out, then fine. I knew well enough when I wasn’t wanted.

So I left.


	22. two truths and one lie.

_**Chapter Twenty-Two.** _

 

I really don't understand this guy.

I mean, I try to. I really, really freaking do, but I can't! He is all over the goddamn place. Whenever I start to think that I have the slightest grip on what the hell is going on in his head, I have the rug pulled from under me, and I fall flat on my face.

Part of me was hoping this time it would be different, but... well, no such luck.

Like. Okay. Should I have told him I loved him? Probably not. Did I do it anyway? Yes. Was I wrong to take this step? I don't know. But I know that Derek has had his problems with relationships since that Argent guy came into his life; the pressure of celebrity life probably hasn't helped him trust a whole lot of people with his feelings, either. So I can kind of understand why he wasn't the most receptive to an unprompted confession of love.

On the other hand, considering all the hours we've spent together, having sex and talking and sharing each other's company and talking about each other's pasts, there is no way in hell he could have expected this to end in any other way. I mean, give me a fucking break! You expect me to believe he thought we would just remain platonic to each other the whole time? That the contract would end, we would shake hands and each would go his merry way without ever so much as thinking about each other?

That is bullshit. He knows that is bullshit.

It's not like he doesn't have feeling for me, either. He does. That much I'm sure of. It was written all over his face every time he touched me, every time he kissed me, every time he slept with his nose pressed against my shoulder. I mean...why else would he even say he doesn't want to see me with other guys, even though it was HIS idea?

Maybe he wasn't jealous. Maybe he was just possessive. Like a toy that only he can play with, since he is paying for it? Maybe that's all I am for him...

No. No, that's not true. I knew that wasn't true. And I was hoping he would come around and prove it to me.

I was just hoping I hadn't fucked it all up.

 

* * * * *

 

I had. I had fucked it all up.

I went home after he told me to, a little teary-eyed and a little heartbroken. The rest of the night was spent with me falling asleep on my bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what the hell could be going on in Derek's head at the moment for him to be acting...like this. Like a kid. A scaredy cat.

My hope was that perhaps one of my dreams would give me an answer.

Yeah, well, I should’ve kept hoping.

When I did wake up, it was already late in the afternoon. My first reflex was to reach for my phone and see if there were any messages over night, but nothing expected me when I turned it on. What did expect me, though, was someone knocking on my door.

“Uh...Lydia? What the hell are you doing here?”

She was...a little somber, to say the least. I was guessing bad news were afoot.

“What happened last night?” she asked, unceremoniously stepping into the apartment.

“Why? What is going on?”

Lydia took a long, sharp breathe. “Derek asked me over this morning. He requested I terminated your contract, effective immediately.”

Needless to say, I choked on my own tongue. “What?! You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m very much fucking not. He told me to pay you all the days remaining on your contract, plus a bonus for any inconvenience, but that your contract is over, as of right now.”

“No, that can’t – he can't be serious.”

I stumbled back, a little disoriented, until I found myself plumped down on the couch, the whole world spinning around me. It felt like the floor had disappeared under my foot, the walls blinking in and out of focus like a 3D movie when you remove the glasses. That could not be happening, right? Not… not really? It had to be a mistake. It just… it had to be.

Lydia sat next to me; she looked downright constipated.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t tell me what happened. Just said things weren’t working out anymore.”

“Really? Is _that_ what he is saying? That son of a bitch.”

“Did he...do something? Crossed a line?”

“No. It was my stupid ass. I... may or may not have dropped the ‘l’ word on him.”

“Lesbians?”

“ _Love_ , Lydia.”

She sighed. “I figured, but I was hoping otherwise. Why would you do that for?”

“I don't know, I shrugged, fighting really hard to swallow the nod that had grown half-way down my throat. “It was the heat of the moment, I guess. I know I shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, you definitely, definitely shouldn’t. But you did, anyway. And I'm assuming you meant it, despite all my warnings."

“I’m sorry.”

She looked at me like she wanted to believe me, but I knew she didn’t.

“With the way you two boneheads were going, I guess I should’ve seen this coming”, she said, resting a heavy hand on my knee. “Especially this last bit.”

“Is there nothing you can do?”

“Not at this point. You know how thick Derek’s skull is. If things don’t go the way he expects, or if he gets even slightly nervous, he either shuts down completely or he tries to deep-clean his apartment.”

“Couldn’t he just have done that last part instead?”

“He did. That’s what I caught him doing when I got there.” She grimaced. “Doesn’t usually work out the way he hopes for, either way.”

I threw my head back on the couch, groaning. “You tell me.”

“For what it’s worth, though, I think he really liked you, too.”

“Really? And is this how he is meant to show me? By firing me? Why would he even do that for?”

“Because…he is Derek? And he doesn’t know how to deal with feelings like a real, actual human being? He overreacts over everything.”

I chewed the insides of my cheeks. It wasn’t like that was entirely true – he had precedent for not trusting people with his feelings, but I didn’t know if Lydia knew that. Was she clued in about the Argent guy? Had he ever told her about it? Should I name-drop him to check? No. Despite everything, I didn’t want to put Derek in a situation he wouldn’t like to be caught in. “You tell me.”

“You know, not to be too Freudian, but I’m pretty sure it’s his dad’s fault. Way to drop the ball there, don’t you think? Really fucked that kid up. He never really got to invest himself on a relationship.”

“Did he have a lot of boyfriends?”

“A handful. Mostly just one-time things. Other closet cases looking for quick hook-ups before they went back to pretending to be straight, more often than not. He struck it out with one or two, but never enough to be memorable.”

I squinted at her, suspicious. “But you _do_ remember them.”

She pouted. “I remember this guy. Pidge or Pace or whatever. They were in the same project together. Derek was…head over heels for him. They got along great. Then Derek found out the guy was blowing one of the writers so he could get a bigger role – at the cost of Derek’s role. You can imagine what that did to him.”

“…I can, yes.”

“Yeah. But…even this other guy. He didn’t look at him the way he looks at you.”

I felt my cheeks starting to turn red. Problem was, I didn’t know if I was getting flustered… or angry. “So you tell me, but like I said – between _this_ and having sex with other people in front of me, that sure is a nice way to show his feelings.”

“...I thought _you_ were the one getting plowed by two other dudes.”

“That was before. I meant yesterday, with his co-star and stuff. Keep up.”

Lydia raised an inquiring eyebrow. My guess is that he forgot to mention that part of the night to her, along with everything else. Classic.

I clued her in, quickly, on what had happened. She didn’t...seem as baffled by the whole ordeal as I was, or as much as I expected her to be.

“But, I mean, it’s weird, right?" I insisted, trying to coax a more favorable reaction from her. “He’s gay, right? Why would he be willing to have sex with a girl?”

“Well, did you ask him?”

“Err...no?”

“Did you _consider_ asking him?”

“I mean...”

“You just jumped straight into sex because you got hot and bothered and your cockhead thinks better than your normal head?”

“Okay, first of all, cockhead is such an ugly word to be said out loud –”

“Not the point here. Listen. Have you considered that Derek didn’t even want to have sex with this lady to begin with?”

“He still went down on her pretty nicely.”

“What other option do you think he had?”

“I don’t know! _Not_ do it?”

She rolled eyes, exasperated. “And how exactly do you think that would reflect on him? What would people think if they knew he went up his apartment with a beautiful woman and he didn’t so much as touch her?”

“It's not – it’s not like she would tell anyone.”

“She would, Stiles. She absolutely would.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that's what we _do_. That's what _everybody_ does. All of us. I mean when you get together with a girl, don’t _you_ talk to Scott about it? Doesn’t he talk to you about his own conquests? Or – did, anyway? And that girl you were with, don’t you think she told her friends about it?”

I bit my tongue. I knew she had.

“Now, if you had one of _the_ hottest dudes in the industry at the palm of your hands, and if he decided to take you to his apartment, but right there and then, instead of doing anything, he told you he’d rather just watch a movie? What do you think would happen?”

My night with Heather came to mind immediately. “They would start to get the wrong idea.”

“Or the right one, depending on the situation. In either case, she’d probably think there is something wrong with her, even if just for a second. She may comment it with someone, and they would say – ‘nah, it’s probably the guy’s problem!’, and that would be the quickest way to make people start spreading rumors. And they _would_. You know they would.”

“I guess you are right”, I said, a little resigned. “Still doesn’t explain why he'd bring her to the apartment, especially if he knew I was in there.”

“Doesn’t it, though?”

I arched an eyebrow, looking at her from the corner of my eye. Sometimes talking to Lydia can be gratifying because she always knows everything, but it's also freaking exhausting, because...well, she always knows everything.

“Would you care to elaborate or do you want me to beg?”

“That sounds like an interesting offer”, she smirked. “But no. Just think, Stiles: why would Derek, knowing you are upstairs, still bring a girl over anyway? He knew you were in the apartment, right?”

“According to him, yeah.”

“So. If he had told her there was someone in his apartment before they even got there, odds were she would probably just want to go and hook up somewhere else, right? Maybe her apartment or something. The parking lot, if she was horny enough. On the other hand, if he took her all the way upstairs and then something happened where they couldn't hook up...that would be easier to convince her to postpone it all together.”

“Hold on a second.” I stood up, a little bit unnerved. “You aren’t trying to spin this around and put the blame on me for him banging her, are you?”

She crossed her arms, defensively. “Why would I do that for?”

“Because you are his agent? And you are on his side?”

“I’m not on anybody’s side, dumbass – especially because there is no side to be taking. He having sex with her didn’t even weight in on he finishing the contract. I’m just trying to ease your mind, before you start to think he is a closeted bi or something. Not that there would be anything wrong with that, obviously.”

“Obviously, yes”, I spit out, a little bitterly. But just a little.

“What I’m saying is...he took her upstairs because he knew you were in there”, she continued, goading me into going back to the couch. “He probably thought there would be two options: you were either decent, or indecent. In the latter’s case, he could just wave it away by the fact that you are his personal agent, and you live together, and you’re always horny.”

“What if I had a dildo in my ass or something? That would be harder to explain.”

“Not really. It’s 2015. Dudes can enjoy butt stuff now, Stiles.”

“I know that!”

“Doesn't sound like it, but – anyway. Derek probably figured that whatever the case may be, he could count on your presence to intervene, and that she would be embarrassed enough by it to go home. Except, when he got there, what did – or didn’t – you do?”

“I...didn’t intervene.”

“Bingo. Instead you were, by what you told me, watching it. Derek probably figured you were either into it, or you were hiding because of something. Considering you did a shit job a hiding, he probably thought you were into it.”

I hid my face in my hands. “Fuck.”

“Fuck is a good way to summarize it. _Were_ you into it?”

“I – I – I guess. I don’t know. A little? A lot? I was horny. It was hot. It was dark. Like a porno or something. You know?”

“No, I don’t. And I’d rather not to”, she grimaced. “But did you – were you jealous of him?”

“I mean...yeah. I was. Obviously.”

"Did you tell him that?"

“I nagged on him about leading the girl on, yeah.”

“But you didn’t tell him you didn't like seeing him with her, sexually. And then you just dropped that you loved him like, five minutes later.”

“I’d say it was more like...twenty minutes. Besides, it’s not like I could just _tell him_ what to do. It wasn’t like he was mine.”

“He _did_ tell you he didn’t want to see you getting fucked in front of him, though.”

“Different situation. He's signing my checks and stuff.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please. Like either of you care about that fucking contract at this point.”

“I do. Still. Kind of.”

“Sure. But you care about him more.”

I pouted. She was right. And I hated her for it.

“How do you know all of this love stuff, Lydia? How can you even picture all these possibilities and possible scenarios in your mind?”

“Aw, honey”, she cooed, pulling my head into her lap. “I’m like a 21st century Hermione Granger, except I’m ginger, beautiful, and I could run laps around Emma Watson, acting-wise.”

She probably could. I mean, being realistic... wouldn’t be that hard.

“Doesn’t explain what he would’ve done if I _wasn’t_ there, though”, I said, a little grumpily. “Would he still have sex with her?”

“Knowing Derek, I want to say... unlikely”, she laughed, running her fingers through my hair.

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Because, pumpkin, in this world, I know two things: first, and that is something I tried to talk him out of many times, but he never listens, is the fact that Derek doesn’t wear a condom. Ever. Of course, the dude only had sex once every blue moon, but still...”

“Yeah, I know that much. What's the other thing?”

“Well, with that in mind, the second thing is that odds were she wasn’t carrying condoms with her, either, and… no actress wants to be the next January Jones.” I stared up at her, like she expected me to know who in the fifty shades of hell was January Jones. “She’s an actress. Kind of. Anyway – the thing is. She got pregnant out of wedlock, of some dude that is probably married, probably even by accident, and she was the gossip of town for literally months. People still talk about it, even. Make guesses who the baby daddy is, that sort of thing. It was a lot of press, but when you’re a female actor... all press is not good press. I can't see any actress thinking it’s a good idea to get knocked up without making sure they have at least a one-year wedding settlement signed first. Especially if you are a black actress, and in a lower-tier career-wise of the guy in question. Life is already tough enough as it is! That could really kill her career.”

“I’m guess no dick is worth that much.”

“You got something right. I mean, the memes _alone_ –” she shuddered. “But ‘he doesn't wanna wrap it before he taps it’ is not as bad as rumor as ‘he doesn't wanna tap it because he prefers dudes’ would be.”

She was right. Again. I know, I know, it gets annoying to keep repeating that, but it’s true.

“Still sucks, though.”

“True, but it’s not that big a deal. It’s just… it’s sex. For people like him, it doesn’t mean anything. Unless feelings are involved.”

She stroke my chin with her thumb, drawing circles over my cheeks. In that moment, it kinda dawned on me that it was the first time that Lydia had been this touchy with me in… a really long while. Possible even ever. Not even when we were dating she was this affectionate.

I guess time really does change us all.

“What am I supposed to do now, Lyd?” I asked her, with a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know, freckle face. But you got a bit of money coming up – you could invest. Start your own business. Talk to your parents about it.”

“How am I gonna explain where the money came from?”

“Tell them...tell them you won a scratch and sniff while they were away. Or... or tell a half-truth. Say you were hired to be the companion of an old widower who had no children and nobody to inherit her will.”

“That sounds _very_ believable.”

“More believable than you being hired as an escort for a closeted movie star?”

“Touché.”

“You could also say you found a briefcase full of money on a restroom or something on the lines of that.”

“Right, like my dad wouldn’t want to return to the owner ASAP.”

“You could tell them that was why you had been holding out on telling them.”

My nose wrinkled a little. That was a not-bad suggestion. Maybe I could develop that further. “I’m guessing that job on LA is out of the picture, then?”

She puckered her lips, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I could pull some strings, see if I could find you anything. Although… LA is a big enough town, but would you want to stay around Derek anyway?"

“Dunno. Maybe. I guess.”

“I think that’s not a good idea for you,” she said, as she gently pulled my face from her lap, standing up. “I think the best thing you can do for yourself is…move on. Just try to see it this way: this was meant to happen eventually. It was just more abruptly and a lot more sour. Like ripping a Band-Aid.”

“And it hurts all the same”, I whined.

“It does. But it will get better. Eventually. I hope. Listen, I have to go now. Things to do, place to be, you know the drills. Are you gonna be okay?”

 “Eventually.”

She gave me one of those little corner-of-the-mouth sad smiles that didn’t make me feel any better. “I hope so. And just remember – focus on going forward, alright? Always forward.”

“Yeah, always forward.”

I was glad that she had left, because my eyes were starting to sting a lot, and even get a little flooded. But no – no, I didn’t want to cry. What I wanted were some goddamn proper answers.

And I knew exactly the person to have them.

 

* * * * *

 

Derek owned me answers, and I was gonna squeeze them out of him, whether he wanted or not.

I didn't do it the same day – I learned to have a little self-control – but the next afternoon, around the time where I knew he’d be home, I marched my way to his apartment, decided to knock the truth out of him.

To be honest, my plan only took me up to the entrance of the building, when it dawned on me that he had probably already branded me as persona non grata to the doormen. Lucky me, however, it didn't seem to be the case – I slipped by Nigel without him so much as lifting his eyes away from his cell phone, which – if I’m being honest – worried me about the safety of the people living in that building.

But I would worry about it some other time.

I went up to Derek’s floor, my hands sweating and shaking, and as I stood in front of his door, my stomach twitched itself into a knot. I could still back away... but why should I? If he was gonna dump me, he was gonna do it in my fucking face, like a grown up.

So I knocked. I knocked, expecting to see him, maybe surprised. Maybe angry. Maybe resentful. Maybe remorseful. Maybe with Braeden, or Lydia.

But it wasn’t even him who opened the door.

“Well, hello there”, said the man on the other side, shooting me a disarming smile. He was a...very handsome man, though his douchey vibe was almost intoxicating; you know the type I mean. He was hairy and in shape and almost completely naked, if not for a pair of almost offensively see-through black underwear.

I honestly had no idea what I was gonna say for like...an entire minute. I had to physically shake myself back into reality.

“Is – hm – is Derek home?” I asked.

“Who wants to know?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. “Wait – are you Stiles?"

There was something very…predatorily about the way he looked me up and down; like I was a raw piece of meat and he had just decided to have me crispy and well done. I had the sudden urge of hiding my genitals, even though I was fully clothed.

“Yeah, I’m– can I speak with him?”

“Who is it, Pete?” I heard his voice coming from inside, and soon I caught a glimpse of him over the guy’s shoulder.

When he saw me, it looked like the blood had vanished from his body.

I stepped back, shoving my hands on my back pockets. This dude Pete walked his ass back into the apartment, while Derek took his place, closing the door behind him.

“You sure found someone to replace me quickly,” I quipped, once we were alone.

“What?”

I nodded towards the door.

“That’s –” he shook his head. "What are you doing here? Didn’t – hasn’t Lydia spoken with you?”

“Yes. But I wanted to talk to you in person. Face-to-face.”

“Is this about money? Because I can give you mo–”

“I don’t give a fuck about your money!”

“Then I don’t... I don’t think we have anything to talk about anymore”, he stuttered.

I laughed, scornful. “You are joking, right? You have got to be joking.”

“Listen, Stiles –”

“No, you listen!” I hissed, trying not to raise my voice. There were other apartments down the corridor, you know. “You don’t get to just drop me out of your life like a turd, dude!”

“That was...that was kind of what the contract was for”, he cringed.

“Fuck the contract! And fuck you! Are you honestly telling me in the three weeks we spent together, you didn’t feel _anything_ for me? At all? Ever?”

He didn’t answer.

The bastard didn’t even look at me.

“After all the things we shared with each other – to each other – did you really think I wouldn’t catch feelings for you? That you don't feel the same way? Because of an implied byline on a contract?”

“Stiles –”

“Answer me!” I demanded as I stepped closer to him, trapping him between the door and myself. “Tell me you don't love me.”

“I don’t –”

“Look at me in the _eye_ and tell me you don't love me back”, I corrected.

His jaw clenched, and I could see that so had his fists. He finally turned to face me; his bottom lip was trembling. “I don’t – I don’t love you", he said, swallowing dry.

“You’re such a bad liar.”

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me.” He folded his arms, defensively. His voice was low and hoarse, and he had gone back to look at his feet. “You – you were just a fuck. Something to relieve the stress. Nothing more. I didn’t feel anything.”

“Bullshit. Tell me you don't feel anything now!”

I pulled him by the V-neck of his t-shirt, kissing him hard on the lips. I held on to him like a lifeboat, searching for some – any – sign of warmth to my touch.

He... he didn’t even flinch.

“I didn’t want to make it worse for you”, he said, pulling me away from him. “It was better to break it off before you got your feelings hurt.”

“Too late for that, don’t you think?” I sneered, wiping my mouth in the back of my hand.

“Stiles –”

“No, it’s fine”, I scoffed, angrily. “It’s fine. If this is how you wanna play this out. Worse for you. It’s not gonna be the only lie you’ll have to live with, will it?”

I backed away from him, trying to keep myself from tripping on my own feet, a whirlwind of emotions going through my mind at the moment. I was... sad. Heartbroken. Disappointed. Angry. Especially angry. Furious, actually.

How could he do this to me? How could he pretend it didn't mean anything? That _we_ didn’t have anything? How could he stand there, gritting his teeth, as though I couldn’t see through this façade he was putting up?

Or maybe...

Maybe it wasn’t a façade. Maybe he didn’t meant it, any of it. Maybe I was just another bed-warmer that he could cast aside whenever he felt like it. He sure as hell had found another one quickly, hadn’t he? Probably wasn’t the only one. Now, or before. And to think I had almost believed him when he said he didn’t hook up with that guy in the restroom!

I was an idiot. A fool. Like Lydia, I should have seen this coming, but I was…blind-sided, by his smile and his touch and his warmth to realize I was just a life-model decoy of a sex doll to him. Maybe not even that much.

I rushed to the elevator, just as a soccer mom stepped out with a kid in her hands. The doors couldn’t close fast enough, still forcing me to stare at him at the other end of the hall, I face that I loved, but that I couldn’t recognize anymore.

Fuck.

How could I have been so stupid, as to fall in love with Derek Hale?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Derek telling the truth? Is he lying? Is he trying to push Stiles away or being sincere? Will Stiles believe him? Will they just move on? Wouldn't it be fucked up if I made ya'll read 22 chapters of this and then dropped the fic right here and never updated again, leaving it with the most angsty end possible?
> 
> But I would never do that.
> 
>  
> 
> ...or would I?
> 
>  
> 
> (I wouldn't.)
> 
>  
> 
> (Or would I? DUM DUM DUMMM)


	23. it's called bella swan'ing, look it up.

_**Chapter Twenty-Three.** _

 

So I ended up doing a lot of Bella Swan’ing the following days.

Bella Swan’ing is like when you crawl into your bed and you curl there for a couple of days or three months and you don't eat a lot and your heart is broken and you don't wanna do anything – kinda like how Bella Swan did in New Moon, ya feel? Yes, I read Twilight, if that’s what you are wondering. Mostly because every girl in my year was in love with Edward, and it seemed that as much as saying shit like ‘and so the lion fell in love with the lamb’ was enough to get some 14-year-old panties wet. Obviously that sounds perverted and creepy as fuck when said now that I am an adult, but back in the day it was what we call ‘locker room talk’; or so I’ve heard, at least, but I don’t know what people say in locker rooms for sure. Whenever I went there, all I did was get shoved around and called the f-word.

_Anyway_. I did some Bella Swan’ing (minus the part about not eating, because that’s just not something I would give up doing. I even got Chipotle, which was sadly something I had had to give up for the last couple of weeks), but not by my own accords. The problem was that there was nothing _to do_ in town – all my friends had left for the holidays, all the good movies were out of season, and Beacon Hills had zero (0) interesting things to be done. I also didn’t want to go all the way to another town to find anything good to do, and I also didn’t feel like going home, because there also wouldn’t be anybody there.

So I stayed in my bedroom, sometimes in the couch, scrolling down my twitter and Facebook feeds, seeing what was up, pretending I didn’t feel like shit.

Worst part was that I wasn’t even good at lying to myself.

Before I realized it, a whole week had passed me by, and the holidays had come and gone. A couple of people sent me wishes of happy New Year, some others tagged me on Facebook stuff, Scott facetimed me, sloppy drunk on the Yukimura’s wine, sobbing (he always gets... a little emotive when he drinks. But, you know, he’s a Pisces, so. At least I think he is) about how much we meant to each other. A typical end of the year, all things considered.

Lydia also called me. A lot. And also a lot of ‘Stiles, pick up your phone’ messages followed by a bunch of exclamation points. I never did, though, because...I am a big chicken. I didn’t know if she was angry at me for going in there, or disappointed, or if I had accidentally gotten her into trouble. Whatever the case may have been, it didn’t bring the full wrath of Lydia Martin to my doorstep, so I figured – why not postpone it as long as I possibly can, like I do with everything else?

I mean. When was the last time that went wrong for me?

I want to say that I eventually snapped out of it and decided to carry on with my life all on my own accords, but what happened was that before I knew it, I heard the front door unlocking and Scott stepped back into the apartment, looking fresh and tanned, to find me wallowing on my own filth, crumbs of chips all over my chest hair, laying on the couch on my underwear.

He desperately, desperately wanted to laugh – I could see it in his face – but he managed to hold it in when he realized I was...not feeling very well.

“You okay, bud?” He asked, putting his backpack down. “You look...not so chill.”

“Pff. Me? I'm super cool. The king of chill. How was the holiday?”

“It was awesome. Kira’s parents are great. I mean, her mom scares me a little, but you know moms always scare me.”

“Can confirm.”

“What about you, though? You look like you got hit by a train.”

“Nah, I’m fine. I’ve never been better.”

“Right, right. Sure. I know you, Stiles, and I know _this_ version of you in particular.” he sat down on the couch forcing me to sit up and open space for him. “This is ‘just got dumped’ you. Did the things not work out with your guy?”

I flinched. “What guy?”

“The guy you’ve been hooking up with.”

“Whaaat? I – I haven’t hooked up with anybody.”

“Yes, you have. And I’m guessing he was your sugar daddy.”

“What? No, he wasn’t!”

“So there _was_ a he.”

“No! No! No, there wasn’t. And if there _was_ , he wouldn’t be my sugar daddy.”

“Are you sure? I mean...was he older than you? Did he give you stuff in exchange for sex? Did you spend time together on an often basis?”

I stopped for a moment, a little caught off-guard by the revelations. Derek _did_ meet all these qualifications. “But I think a sugar daddy has to be, like, an older guy, no? Like, decades old?”

“I don't know. I think it depends. It’s case-by-case, probably. How much older was yours?”

“About four or five years, I think.”

“So there _was_ a guy!”

“Fuck!”

I buried my faced on the nearest cushion, muffling a scream. Like just keeps getting better and better, huh?

Scott just awkwardly patted me on the back of the head. “‘Salright, bud. I’m cool with it if you are.”

“How did you find out?”

“You didn't exactly make it hard for me to. You saying you were working twenty-four-seven didn’t really convince anybody, and when I went to Brett’s a couple of weeks back, he actually told me you quit – he kinda banned you for life, by the way. And I heard you moaning the dude’s name once while you beat off. Derrin, I think? Or Derrick?”

“Derek”, I corrected. “ _Fuck_.”

To be honest, part of me was just surprised people hadn’t found it out before, given there are photos of us and stuff. I guess it’s because they never mention my name, so they could just think I was a passerby? A stalker passerby, even? In retrospect, I should’ve told people I was working as his personal assistant, since that’s what I was being billed as either way.

That, of course, would’ve meant my mom running all the way to Beacon Hills on foot to talk to Derek in person, which…could’ve been a problem. Especially since he was clearly not ready to ‘meet the parents’.

But alas.

“Like I said, buddy I’m totally cool with it, so don't worry.”

“Are you? Why?”

“I don’t know, ‘cos you're living your truth and I think that’s great? I am a little hurt that you’re doing dudes and I wasn’t your first...in line to be informed of it”, he coughed, cleaning his throat. “But I will survive. When did you come to the conclusion you were into guys?”

“I don't know, couple of weeks ago, I guess”, I shrugged. “I’m still into girls, though. Not that it matters at the moment.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you guys even meet?”

“It’s...complicated.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Yeah, but I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I can’t.”

“Okay. Why not? Is he married?”

“No.”

“One of our teachers?”

“Nope.”

“A politician?”

“No!”

“But is he famous?”

“I can’t tell you, Scotty!”

“That works as a yes.”

I groaned, smacking him with the cushion.

He hit me back. “Why didn’t it work out between you two?”

“‘Cause I’m an idiot.”

“That much is a given.”

“Hurtful.”

“But true. What did you do?”

“Told him I loved him.”

“Kinda sounds like the opposite of a problem to me.”

“He’s...got issues. It’s complicated. And it’s my own damn fault, too – I knew, going in, I shouldn’t catch feelings for him. But I thought I was straight back then.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Back the truck up. You thought you were straight when you started dating him? How does that work? I feel like I’m missing a whole lot of this story.”

“You are, but I can't tell you.”

“Why? I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Will too. Besides, it’s in my contract. I can’t say anything.”

“Your contract? Did you sign a contract? Like a NDA?”

“Exactly like that.”

He gasped. “So he _is_ a famous dude!”

“Goddamn it, stop trying to guess!” I groaned, exhasperated. “But – okay, yes. Fine. He is a famous dude. But that’s all I can say.”

“I’m guessing he is a _closeted_ famous dude.”

"Yeah, but like I said, it’s not why it didn’t work out. I should never have said anything.”

“Isn’t saying ‘I love you’ a natural progression on a relationship?”

“Maybe, but he’s got stuff he needs to work through, and – and it was just three weeks, so –”

“Holy shit! You said ‘I love you’ after _three weeks_? Dude!”

“I know, I know! A little too forward, right?”

“You _think_?”

I hid my face in my hands. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid Stiles and his stupid feelings and his stupid big mouth. “How long did you wait before saying it to Kira?”

He blushed. “Same day, actually.”

“No way!”

“We went on a date and it was amazing, we hit off right off the bat, and when I took her back to her sorority house she kissed me and I heard fireworks, so I...blurted it out right there, on the spot, that I was in love with her.”

“Wait, didn’t you go out with her on the 4th of July?”

“You're missing the point, my guy.”

And I thought _I_ was dumb. “What * _is_ * the point?”

“The point is that Kira ghosted me for two weeks after I did it, so maybe there is a chance for you and your guy yet.”

I left out a little sad chuckle. “Unlikely. I said some shitty stuff to him before I left. Even assaulted him, now that I think about it.”

Scott cringed. “Jesus, did you hit him?”

“No, I would’ve just broken my hand.”

“Oh – shit,” his eyes grew wide. “Stiles, did you – did you _rape_ him?”

“God, no! Oh my God! I... I kissed him. By force.”

“ _Dude_.”

“I know, I know. It’s terrible. I felt like shit right after. I didn’t mean it - I mean, did. Sort of. It's difficult to explain.”

“So you keep telling me. Are you sure there is no way to work things out?”

“Nah. I mean, by this point, Lydia probably already got him a restraining order, or –”

“Wait. Lydia knows about it?”

“Yeah, she was –”

“Wait. Wait a moment! He is a famous person. His name is Derek. He is in town. Lydia is involved. Oh my God. _Oh my God_!” I could literally see the gears working at full speed on his head. I was afraid smoke was gonna start coming off of his ears, like a cartoon character. “Were you fucking Derek Hale?!”

“Can you raise your voice a little? I think the rest of the building didn’t hear you.”

“Were you fucking Derek Hale?!” he repeated, jumping up and down on his knees on the couch.

“Lower your voice!”

"Is that a yes?”

“Okay, fine! Yes, I was, okay? But you can’t tell anyone! Ever!”

“I’m telling you, I won't!”

“Promise me!”

“I promise, on my dad’s grave.”

“Your dad is not even dead yet.”

“To me, he is. Jesus, dude – that is amazing. Derek fucking Hale. Academy Nominee Derek Fucking Hale had his dick in your mouth. That’s amazing!”

“You make it sound so romantic.”

“Who cares if it’s romantic? Derek fucking Hale, dude! Are you gonna tell me how you score this gig or what?”

“Derek is a closeted guy, and he hadn't been with anyone in a while, so Lydia wanted to hire someone to, hmm, relieve his stress, so she contacted me because she knew I was trustworthy –”

“Kinda rude that she didn't even think about me, though.”

“You’re in a relationship, dude.”

“Nonetheless. Proceed.”

“Right. So she showed me my salary, and that served to convince me to give it a try. She warned me I shouldn’t catch feelings for Derek, but back then I thought I was straight, so I didn’t think I had to worry about it.”

“Classic mistake. At least that means he wasn’t your sugar daddy, you were…his escort.”

“For lack of a better word.”

“Pretty sure there are no other words for that job description.”

I rolled eyes. “Fine. So I was his escort. I fell in love with him. I confessed my feelings for him, because – because I figured he felt the same way about me. Instead, he dumped me.”

“Maybe he was just not ready for a relationship.”

“Could’ve been. Or...or maybe I just got it wrong, you know? Maybe I projected my feelings on him, ‘cos he was my first guy, and he gave me all these weird feelings, and maybe...maybe I just figured if I fell for him, he would fall for me too, you know? Like, you know, like it happens in the movies, in this fantasy that we construct where everybody gets together in the last minutes and they all confess their loves for each other or something. But…I’ve been watching some LGBT movies on Netflix this past week, and I realize that most of the times they don’t end up together. One of them leaves or the other one dies.”

“Sounds very introspective, bud.”

“Yeah. These tissues here aren’t for jerking off, it turns out.”

Worst part was that it was true, actually. In the long, long, _long_ days when I had been left with nothing but my thoughts, I found myself thinking back to all the days we had spent together, and... the more I thought about it, the more I deconstructed what I had built in my head these last weeks, questioning whether or not I believed in the truth of Derek’s feelings, or lack thereof. After all, the guy lied and seduced people for a living; it wouldn’t be too farfetched to think that I had tricked myself into thinking he corresponded my feelings, when feelings – for him – seemed to be such an after-thought.

Sensing another wave of sadness washing over me, Scott scooted closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I sighed, letting him nurse my head against his chest. My friends were doing a lot of that, which is probably the most physically affectionate they have been since half of the lacrosse team tried to teabag me when I accidentally made a winning score in our last game in my senior year, but tripped and knocked myself out for twenty minutes.

It was a bit awkward that I was still in my underwear and all, but all things considered, if Kira walked in on us at that very moment, it would not have been the weirdest situation she had caught us in.

And it was definitely not as weird as the Beef Jerky Incident, but that’s not the point right now.

“Can I...ask one thing, though?” he questioned, after a while.

“Sure.”

“How big was he?”

“What?”

“You know…like…his dick. How big was it?”

I pulled away, a little flabbergast. “What kind of question is that?!”

“A legit one?”

“I’m not gonna answer that!”

“Why not? Come on, dude!” he pouted. “Okay, I’m gonna open my hands, you tell me if I’m getting close or far, okay?”

“Scott –”

“Come on, man. Just do it. For science.”

“You’re not a scientist.”

“For _biology_ , then. Please. Please, please, please.”

He gave me those godforsaken puppy-dog eyes that always convinced me. Ugh. Where is my self-control, God? Where is my dignity?

Questions I should’ve asked myself ten or so years ago, when I started stealing my uncle’s playboys.

I sighed, resigned. He started parting his hands, slowly and slowly, and the further it went, the bigger his eyes got. By the time it reached the proper size and I told him to stop, his chin was on the floor.

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

“Fuck off, there is NO WAY you could’ve taken that much dick! I mean, you were obviously the bottom, right?”

“Okay, first of all, uncalled for, but yes. And I did.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen.”

“We _couldn’t_ take pics, you nutsack. It was in the contract. Especially not of his dick.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t take a single picture with him?”

“Obviously, yes”, I fished out my phone from the floor, showing him my background wallpaper. “But not of his dick.”

“Bummer.”

“Why are you interested in this, anyway? It’s not like you can steal him like the other girls.”

“I mean...” he shrugged.

“What? It’s like you like dudes.”

“Well, I may not _like_ -like them, but...”

I squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean? You hook up with dudes?”

“ _I mean_...” he gave me that nose-wrinkling grimace. It almost knocked me out of the couch. It certainly put me back on my feet.

“No way! No way! Fuck you, shut up! I would know it if you were hooking up with dudes!”

“Would you, though?”

“Shut up! Shut up! Of course I would.”

He gave me a half-smile.

_Motherfucker_.

There was no way – no way that was true. I would know! I would ABSOLUTELY know! He was my best-friend! I knew everything he did, ever. I knew more about him than his girlfriend did! I would absolutely know if he was hooking up with guys. Wouldn’t I?

Wouldn’t I?

“Okay, say I believe you – when? When did that happen?”

“High school. Right after I joined the lacrosse team. Jackson – you remember Jackson, right? – he told me that it was tradition for players to blow each other before every game, to relieve stress.”

“And you _believed_ him?”

“By the time I realized we were the only ones doing it, I had already gotten used to it, so why stop?” he shrugged again. “We kept doing it until he got caught doing scat porn by Principal Deaton.”

“Wait, he was doing scat porn? I thought it was just normal gay porn.”

“I don’t know. But that’s what I heard, anyway. He _does_ look like the kind of dude that would be into it, though, right?”

He absolutely did.

“Okay you sucked dick a couple of times, that just makes you gay-for-pay without getting paid!”

“True. But there was also the Isaac thing. Sit down.”

“ _What_ Isaac thing?” I asked. I did sit down, but _not_ because he told me to.

“You remember Isaac Lahey, right?”

“The guy that Alison dumped you for?”

“She didn’t dump me for him. She dumped me, and then she hooked up with him.”

“Whatever you say, buddy. What about him?”

“Well...I had sex with him.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Fuck off.” I corked an eyebrow at him. “When?”

“Between she dumping me and hooking up with him. He had that pool party, remember? Where Allison pushed the creepy stalker into the pool?”

“Right. I did notice you were gone for a while.”

“So that’s that. And… and then with...both of them.”

“Both of them who? Isaac and Matt Daehler?”

“No, dude. Isaac and Allison.”

“You had a threeway? In _high school_? Give me a break.”

“It’s true! Remember our graduation day, when I told you I had something important to do? I was doing them.”

“ _That’s_ why you ditched me that day? I thought you had, like, an emergency at home or something!”

“It was an once-in-a-lifetime experience! I couldn’t just let it pass. I mean, I could, but I didn’t want to.”

Son of a–

I gritted my teeth, trying not to be angry at him. He was right, in a very…Scott sort of way. Besides, Isaac was attractive, at least when he kept his mouth shut. When he started speaking he had that fake ass British accent he got after spending literally 2 weeks on a trip to England, which he carried out through the entire four years of high school. It was like trying to talk to a guy who had balls in his mouth, which turned out to be Scott’s.

Not to mention that, I should be thanking him. I mean, if he had come with us to celebrate instead of being sandwiched between Allison and Isaac, Scott would have been smart enough not to let us go to that Dennys with the suspicious-looking meatballs down the street, that eventually resulted on my two-weeks long constipation, and my unfortunate learning experience on how to give myself enemas – which, all things considered, came to be useful later in life.

So, in a bizarre way, things work themselves out in the end.

“Can’t believe they are already married, though”, I said, thoughtfully.

“Can't believe I didn’t get to have a quickie with either of them before the ceremony”, he said, a little bitterly. That was definitely a side from Scott I didn't know existed.

“Who else did you fuck that I know of?”

“Hmm...remember that Liam kid? The one I was tutoring?”

“You did _not_ have sex with him.”

“It was just a blowjob, but –”

“He’s, like, fourteen!”

“Eighteen and four months, _actually_. He just looks like he hasn’t reached puberty yet. Good head, though.”

“Have you...told Kira about it?”

“Why would I tell Kira about it?”

“‘Cause it’s kinda cheating and it’s kinda shitty?”

He laughed. “What are you talking about? It wasn’t cheating.”

“You just said he blew you.”

“Yeah, but he’s a dude. It doesn't count.”

I squinted. “It… does, though. It absolutely counts.”

“What? No it doesn’t. It’s just, like, fooling around. Between two dudes. It’s not like I’m gonna have feelings for them or anything.”

“But you _had_ sex with them?”

“Yeah, but like I said, it doesn't count, ‘cause I didn’t have feelings for them or anything. ‘Cause, like, they are dudes.”

“I just told you I have feelings for a dude.”

“Yeah, but it’s different.”

“How? How is it different?”

“Because – because –” he was scratching the back of his head, nervously trying to find the proper words, but I could feel he was struggling to put them together.

He didn’t need to; I kinda could see what his line of thinking was going for.

It was not the best direction he should aim at.

“I mean, you know, it’s like…you like girls, and you like guys, and I think that’s neat! Me, I think everybody’s hot, and I hooked up some dudes a couple of times, but it’s not like I could fall in love with them or anything, you know? Like, go on dates and that kind of shit. It’s just a bit of fun, is all.”

“Sounds to me like you have a case of internalized homophobia, my guy.”

“Internalized what now? I’m _not_ homophobic.”

He said the ‘not’ with such emphasis – pleading for it to be true, almost – that I could hear his tongue clicking in the roof of his mouth.

“I didn’t say you were. It’s _internalized_ homophobia. It’s...something else. You need to look it up.”

“Have you been going to Professor Morrell’s Gender Studies? You know she’s gonna mess with your head.”

“No, bud, but I looked up some stuff when I was going through my questioning phase. Seems to me you need to check it out, too.”

He frowned. I knew he wasn't gonna check it out.

Seeing as it would be a lost battle, I decided not to push it much forward. I think... I think that’s something he needs to come to terms with on his own. Like I did. It may take a while. It may never happen – he’s settled with Kira, they are soon to start having kids no doubt, and despite everything Scott was always a very monogamous person – but the realization will hit him someday.

Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Instead, I chose to stand up and stretch out, cleaning the crumbs from my beard. Well, what was meant to be the beginning of a beard, anyway. I can never grow a full-beard, it just makes me look like someone who spends too much time on Reddit.

“I should probably go clean up. Take a bath. Move on with my life”, I said, although not enthusiastically.

“That’s good thinking, man. Just keep going ahead, and things will get better.”

That was easier said than done, now, wasn't it? In fact, when was the last time that ‘it gets better’ actually worked for anyone, ever, except for...I don’t know, a tagline for a cheap TV commercial?

In fact, a heartbreak never gets better. It just gets buried by either another heartbreak or a long fuck, and I was honestly not in the mood for either.

Scott was probably in the mood for the latter, since apparently that's what he is about now. I still couldn’t believe he had been banging dudes left and right in high school and I never noticed it. I can't believe Lydia was doing it, too. And Jackson. And Isaac. Wait. Were ALL my friends (or people I had to spend time with on a five-day basis) gay, bisexual or otherwise non-straight? Was I the only one not in on the joke? _Why_ was I not the only one on the joke?

“Hey, how come you never told me you were bi?” I asked, before I left the room to the bathroom. Maybe bi wasn’t the proper term. Maybe pan. I don’t know how this works. I still don’t get the different between the two.

Scott looked at me like he was trying to decide whether or not he should correct me on it, or if it was just not worth the argument. “‘Cause I didn't know if you were gonna be receptive of the news.”

“Oh, so _you_ thought _I_ was a homophobe?”

“Not in those many words, no. I did give you hints about it, though.”

“What? When? Wait –” I squinted at his shit-eating grin. “Is that why you’re always walking around naked, with your ass everywhere? To try and give me hints?”

“I don’t know”, he said, and his sardonic mile grew wider. “Did it work?”

“No! All it did was traumatize me! Oh my God. You know – if you ever got lost in the woods and accidentally got mauled by a wolf and they only found your bottom half, I would still be able to identify you by the shape of your dick alone.”

“It worries me how much thought you gave on how I will die, buddy.”

“It _should_.”

He threw a cushion at me, smacking me across the face at full force. Maybe that's what a truly needed – some good smacking for me to get back on my senses and carry on with my life. That's really what I should do.

But before I did that, there was one last thing I needed to do.

For closure.

 

* * * * *

 

I needed to talk to Derek one last time.

I know! I know. It sounds like I'm torturing myself, but it's not the case. It’s just...I don't want his last image of me being the crazy, unhinged guy that forces himself on people, you know? Even if...even if he truly, really doesn’t care about me, even if I’m really nothing other than a human fleshlight to him, I still want him to look back at us and remember the positive aspects of our brief relationship. I wanted him to remember me as someone with a little bit of more sanity than I usually let on.

Problem though is that I’m also a coward.

Even if I somehow managed to get up there, I still don’t think I would have the courage to look him in the eye again. It would hurt me a lot, you know? You don’t need to tell me how stupid it sounds, I’m well aware of it. But I still... I still don’t think I can stand that.

So instead I wrote him a letter. Yes, a letter. It was in part because I’m a dramatic person who lives for the flair of it all; but also because I wasn’t entirely sure if he had blocked my number from sending him messages or calling him already.

Best-case-scenario, I could slip it under his door and run away, if I managed to get past the entrance.

Which I didn’t.

“Hi, Mr. Stiles. Sorry, I can’t let you in”, the doorman said, as I came through the gates.

As I suspected. “It’s alright. Could you please hand this out to Mr. Hale, Nigel? It's kinda important, I need him to read it.”

“Sorry, I can’t.”

“No, I mean, I get it. He doesn’t wanna hear from me or anything, but it’s just to tell him I totally understand his position and that I overstepped and – and I’m not like, stalking him or anything, but –”

“No, Mr. Stiles, what I'm saying is that I can’t hand it to him, ‘cause he doesn’t live here anymore.”

Well that sure threw me out of a loop, like someone had thrown me around like the spinning top from Inception and then smacked me in the face with a bat. Needless to say, I was surprised. “What? When? How? Sorry, I mean – when did this happen?”

“Between Christmas and the New Year, I figure”, Nigel said, scratching under his ear. “I thought you knew. Ain’t ya his personal assistant?”

“Not – not anymore.”

I stepped back, out of building and into the dying light of the morbid afternoon of January – though I barely felt like my legs, or any of my muscles for that matter, were properly working.

He was...gone. Gone. Left his house. Maybe town? No. I had seen the production crew on the way there – I even thought about dropping the letter there, but there were too many people, too many variables. Did he leave because of me? Was he afraid I was gonna show up there again? Do something? Oh God. I hope not.

Fuck.

He was gone.

And this time...there was no chance of him coming back. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more to go! Three, technically. Considering whether I should drop these last chapters + epilogue together or if I should drop them separately, like the planned schedule. What do ya'll think?


	24. moving onwards.

_**Chapter Twenty-Four.** _

 

“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to answer my calls”, Lydia said, at the other end of the line.

It took me a while, but I finally got the courage to call Lydia. I knew eventually I would have to face her, so...well, better late than never, I guess.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy”, I lied.

She scoffed. “No, you haven’t.”

“How could you _possibly_ know that?”

“‘Cause I’ve put cameras in your apartment.”

That made me jump back on my feet real quick, as I looked around nervously. “What?! Really?”

“No. Jesus Christ. Why do you guys think I’d even do this kind of thing?”

“‘Cos you threaten us with it all the time! Maybe if you didn’t act like some kind of FBI agent or some American assassin or some bullshit, nobody would believe that.”

“Eh, I guess. But doing it is half the fun.” I don’t know to whom, though. “To what can I attribute the honor of your calling?”

“I’m returning your calls, actually. And see what you've been up to.”

“Right, right. And that’s the only reason.”

“I mean – yeah. I mean, I don’t have any other reasons, no.”

She chuckled. “So you don’t want any status on Derek?”

“He, hm, he left town a little earlier than expected, right? From what I heard”, _by literally going there_ , but she didn't need to know that. “So it’s not like I need to know anything else.”

“But you still want to.” She huffed a little.

“Just, you know, out of curiosity. Wasn’t he gonna have to be around to do extra shootings when the director switched?”

“Yes. According to him, he needs to take a little time off to help with his uncle's recovery – that’s the official word from him anyway.”

“And the unofficial one?”

“...There isn’t one”, she said, but the long, drawn-out pause before the answer told me a different story. “He says that since almost all of his scenes are already recorded, and the only left can be done with green screen or in LA, he decided to ask for these days off. I guess the director agrees with him.”

“That sounds…plausible. Almost.”

“Yeah. How…are you doing, by the way? You know, now that you got some time to think?”

“Well…do you want the truth or do you want me to lie?”

She seemed to mull it over for a moment. You’d think that wasn’t a hard question to consider, and yet here she was. “The truth, I guess.”

I took a long, hard breathe in. “The truth is…I’m lost. I feel lost. This is the first time in my adult life – maybe in life in general – where I don’t have to worry about money; I don’t have to worry about a boss nagging over my shoulder, I don’t have to worry about getting kicked out of my apartment or my card being declined when I’m buying instant noodles at Walmart because that’s the only thing I can afford. But then – then I also don’t have to worry about school, which I never _did_ anyway, but now I have loads and loads of time to think about how I never did, because I lived every moment of my life just trying to get to the next moment, hoping it would somehow be better, or that things would suddenly have worked themselves out for the better for me. The worst part is that they did, and now I don’t know what to do next,” I sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “And I’m…I’m worried. I’m worried about myself. I’m worried that I’m always gonna be like this, that I’m never really gonna find a place for me. I’m worried that I don’t know who I am, or that I don’t know who my friends really are. I’m worried I’ll never stop thinking about Derek, and I’m…I’m worried he’s doing the same thing. I’m even more worried at the thought that he just may not be. That I didn’t really mean anything to him. That I was something he cast aside when he thought I was no longer useful, and I’ve been tricking myself into believing something more could come out of it. I’m worried about him and you, and if my actions my affect your career in a bad way. I’m worried about his career if Scott ends up accidentally saying something when he shouldn’t. I’m worried about –”

“Wait. Wait. Wait. Hold the fuck up. Scott _knows_?”

“Yeah, but –”

“SCOTT KNOWS? What the FUCK, Stiles? What was the GODDAMN POINT of making you sign a contract if –”

“Hey now, hold on!” I tried to say, while she was still screaming in my hear. “I didn’t tell him! He saw I was bummed out, and he put the clues together. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, DENIED IT?”

“The evidence was pretty stacked up against me there.”

I heard something that sounded extremely like a wild animal growling, before Lydia composed herself enough to come back to the phone. “It’s alright. This is fine. We can work on this.”

“For what it’s worth, though, I’m sure he’s not gonna tell anyone. You know, we had a really deep, heart-to-heart conversation. Did you know he was bi?”

“Yes.”

“What? No way! Since _when_?”

“High school. Allison told me they had a threeway with Isaac Lahey. She told me Scott was a loud bottom.”

Truly felt like that was something I didn’t need to know. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because it’s his life and it’s not my place to give out this information? Something you probably should learn a little about, since you don’t seem to have a problem forcibly outing him.”

“What? I didn’t do that.”

“You literally did. Just now. Five seconds ago.”

“You already knew!”

“But you didn’t _know_ that I knew. You just spilled it out without thinking about what he would feel like to have you saying that without asking him first. That’s a shitty thing to do.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right. But also, I’m… Sorry. That you feel this way. That I can’t do anything about it. I was in this place for a while, little after I got this job. I felt hopeless and lonely and scared. But, you know what? Scared is… Scared is good.”

“What? That’s a terrible pep talk.”

“It’s true, though. Listen. Fear makes you aware of your surroundings. Makes you ready for anything. To take the next step.”

“Fear also makes you do stupid things.”

“True, but as long as you are not dead, there is always a work-round it. Trust me, you’ll be fine. Give it time.”

“I’ll… try, I guess.”

“Do it. And also don’t worry about my job. I’m doing great. Actually, I may be about to get a promotion to manager!”

“Really? That’s - that’s awesome! I don’t really know the difference between one and the other though.”

“Managers can produce! It’s a step up. Listen, I have to go now. Promise me you’ll be okay.”

“Long as you are.”

“Forever and a day, then. Talk to you later!”

And just like that, she was gone. Like a fairy godmother, but for advice and stuff. Deep in my heart, I knew she was probably right; things always turned out well in the end, and if they weren’t good, then it wasn’t over yet.

Obviously this rule doesn’t apply to the series finale of How I Met Your Mother or anything produced by Ryan Murphy, but the point stands.

Maybe something good was yet to come.

 

** * * *

 

The problem with realizing things can get better, though, is that it comes with the knowledge that you need to actually pursue it if you want things to work themselves out; staying at home and ordering in so many times you are already on a first-name basis with the old Chinese delivery lady from the pizza place downtown was not the way to do it

Unless it was a cute delivery lady. Or a delivery guy - in which case my future may just end up being on Men.com

(Staying in and watching gay porn is also not how you carry on.)

So the first thing I did was join a gym nearby. The _second_ thing I did was sit in the locker room shower stall floor and cry because every single muscle in my body was hurting and also, somehow, simultaneously, turning into jelly.

Then, to reward myself for surviving what I was sure to be a session of torture that probably violated several human right laws, I decided to go to the coffee shop. Hopefully there they sold ice packs, or someone willing to put me out of my misery.

Turned out I found neither, but I also didn’t see Danny the Barista Guy, so maybe that was a plus.

Kind of. Sort of.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see or talk to him, it was just that… I didn’t know what to say or do if I ever ran into him.

He, however, seemed to have that figured out.

“Can I sit here?”, He asked, with a coffee in one hand and a croissant in another.

“Uh…yeah, sure, of course.”

He took the seat in front of me, despite the fact that it was a slow afternoon and there were several other tables empty around us. I didn’t think it mattered to him, though.

“Nice to see you back around these parts. I almost got the feeling you were avoiding me.”

“Whaaat? Why would I possibly do that for?”

“I don’t know. ‘Cause you knew that I knew that you knew that I knew it was in the threeway? Was it even a threeway? There were four people there.”

“Good, hm, good question.”

“It was you, though, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Hah! I _knew_ it”, he laughed, leaning back on the chair. “Weird that you’ve been vanishing into a puff of air whenever I’m around. I mean, I figured you were the one that chose me to begin with.”

“It was. I was just…feeling a bit awkward afterwards, that’s all.”

“You tell me about it”, he chuckled, taking a bite out of his pastry. “I was a little freaked out ‘cause I’ve never done it with more than one guy before, but, you know…If you ever need someone to repeat the experience, you know you can just call me.”

“Ah, I don’t…think that’s gonna happen.”

“Damn. Was it that bad?”

“No, it was awesome. But I don’t…I don’t think it will happen again.”

“Bummer. Was it a one-time thing, then? Not, like, a fetish or something?”

“Yeah, that’s also one of the reasons.”

He gave me a funny look. “ _Also_? Wait. Did your guy break-up with you?”

I nodded.

He pouted. “Sorry to hear that. Welcome to the broken heart club.”

“You too, huh?”

“Yeah. I was dating this guy, but he left me for some boring ass white twink he met on his trip to London earlier this year. It doesn’t matter; he was ugly anyway. His face looked like a pig’s asshole squinting”, he chuckled, but the laugh kind of turned into a soft sob. “No, he wasn’t. I’m just a little bitter he left me. Although, you know, I still got the last laugh.”

“How so?”

“Well,” he said, sipping his drink. “He left me two days before your friend’s direct deposit hit.”

I laughed. Sometimes revenge is best served by fucking two dudes at the same time while your bank account skyrockets.

He appeared to agree with me. “That’s the best kind of rebound. How’s yours coming along?”

“I haven’t…really done any, to be perfectly honest. It’s pretty recent.”

“You should. Maybe try one of these gay apps. I haven’t seen _your_ abs in any of them yet.”

“I’m not really into that kind of stuff.” I said.

He looked at me funny. “What stuff?”

“You know…”

“What? Random sex with people you don’t know?”

“Yeah, but not the way you put it. You know what I mean.”

“Sure, sure. I guess Grindr is not for everyone”, he said, and sounded a little disappointed. “But it would be nice to have some fresh meat. Add a little diversity to the options.” It was my turn to give him a funny look. Usually when people used the word ‘diversity’ around me it was usually to mention how I was the opposite of it. “Not _that_ kind of diversity, duh. I mean, we only got the same boring muscle bunnies who don’t even touch your dick while you’re doing it, or the frat bros who swear they are just experimenting but they don’t even have gag reflexes anymore, or the closeted 40 year old father of three who fucks you in the back of his Subaru while his wife is at soccer practice with the kids. Gets a little boring after a while.”

“Can’t say I can relate. I haven’t actually ever…you know.”

He squinted.

I blushed.

A lightbulb popped over his head.

“Oh my _God_ ”, he said, and even in his husky voice he managed to sound like a dying whale. “Was he your first guy? Wait – was I your second? Or third? God. You’re practically a virgin!”

“I mean – I’ve done stuff with women. Lots of women. Well, some women. A handful of women. I mean –”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. Might as well just paint your ass red-blue-purple.”

“What?”

“The bisexual flag. Jesus Christ.”

“Right. I knew that.”

I didn’t. I didn’t know that.

“At least I can see you are handling it better than…well, some _other_ people”, he said, almost bitterly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know…Vernon.”

“Boyd?”

“Do you know any _other_ Vernons?”

“No, I mean, what about him?”

“We got together after that night. I guess he wanted to…explore his new options? I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I know that after we got together he started crying. Full on crying. Ugly crying. Said he missed his girlfriend or something. It was sad, in a way that was almost heart-warming.”

“You don’t sound heart-warmed.”

“I didn’t say it was _my_ heart.”

I shook my head, rolling eyes at him. I could see where Boyd was coming from, though; probably not an easy experience to go through by himself. I did wonder – his relationship with Erica notwithstanding – what conclusion he had come to.

“You know, this is kind of fun.” He said, finishing his beverage. “We should hang out more.”

“Yeah. Yeah! We could be – we could be bros. That would be cool.”

“Maybe more”, he smirked.

“What?”

“Like…buddies with benefits.”

“You mean fuck-buddies?”

“Your words, not mine.”

I considered laughing, until I realized he wasn’t actually joking.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? We did it once. We know each other. We are both into other people, so it’s not like we’re gonna fall in love or anything. And, you know, it’s fun.” He stood up, stretching his arms out. I could see the happy trail down his bellybutton. “My shift starts in thirty minutes. The bathroom is probably empty.”

“You mean now?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“I’m not – I’m not gonna have sex with you in a restroom!” I hissed.

“You say that like you’ve never done it before.”

“I – I haven’t!” Jerking off doesn’t count!

He winked. “First time for everything.”

Danny wasn’t kidding. He stood up, chugged down the rest of his drink, and left, headed to the bathroom. I stayed where I was, practically glued to my seat, without really knowing what to do.

Should I follow him? Should I leave? Why should I leave? It wasn’t like I hadn’t done stuff with him before; it wasn’t also like I hadn’t done stuff in a public bathroom before (although by myself). And I…you know, I was attracted to Danny. He was a handsome guy. Got a rocking body. A nice dick, too. There was nothing stopping me from going there and doing it with him, was there?

Definitely not my still very present feelings for a guy who didn’t even want to look at me in the eyes. Nope. That’s totally past me now.

And if it wasn’t…it should. Shouldn’t it? Isn’t this why I can’t properly close my arms without feeling muscles spasms – the process of moving on?

Besides, as weird as that may sound, I really missed getting fucked.

So I went to the restroom. There was an ‘out of order’ sign at the handle, but I ignored it, assuming it had been he to put it there – a correct assumption, as he was waiting for me on the other side, leaning against one of the sinks. His shirt had apparently been misplaced between the table and the bathroom, but who’s complaining?

“I’m honestly surprised you did come.”

“I haven’t yet, so you better put that mouth to good use.”

“Ha! Gay jokes. You’re getting the hang of it.”

He pulled me closer as I approached, and I was caught off guard when he kissed me. Not that it was bad, though; it was great. Really great. His kissing kept going, down my neck, pushing my shirt out of the way until he found himself on his knees; the button of my jeans had popped even before I realized what was happening, and my jeans were around my knees twice as fast.

I moaned and threw my head back as he took my dick in his mouth, one hand playing with my balls while the other traced its way up my chest. God. Fuck. He really knew what he was doing, didn’t he?

Biting down my lower lip, I stroke his hair, to the rhythm of his head bobbing up and down against my crotch. It felt good. So good. So good that I was hating myself for not feeling anything.

But I wasn’t.

And he noticed.

“Well, this is…surprising”, he said, taking my still limpy dick out of his mouth. “Though not entirely unexpected.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It happens to the best of us.”

“So people keep telling me. It doesn’t make me feel better.”

He looked at me as though he was wondering how many times I had heard that sentence before. I tried to ignore it by pushing my dick back into my pants.

I kinda felt bad for him, though. I didn’t want to ruin his free time. “I can still blow you, though.”

He chuckled. “It’s okay, Stiles. You don’t have to do it.”

“I want to. And I like doing it anyway.”

“You sure?”

“I am. Don’t you wanna find out?”


	25. two steps back, one leap of faith forward.

_**Chapter Twenty-Five.** _

 

Well, so that was a fun experience. Kinda. Sorta.

I mean, I did – I did like it. I enjoyed it. I very much did enjoy it. I have come to accept the fact that I enjoy having someone's wiener in my mouth, and the fact that I'm good at having someone’s wiener in my mouth. It’s a skill.

What I _didn’t_ particularly enjoy was having to wash cum out of my hair for almost twenty minutes – or at least _try_ to make it look like there wasn't cum drying on my hair – in the sink of the restroom, because Danny seemly doesn't know how to aim properly.

I also didn’t particularly like to run into Professor Harris outside of the coffee shop, just as he, his wife and the triplets arrived in their minivan. I know it's more my fault than his that I failed his class, but... still stinks.

But nonetheless! It was still a step. A step in the right direction. That's how we do it, right? One step at the time, and eventually we'll get somewhere far from where we started, as long as we don’t slip up along the way.

Which, uh, is exactly what I kind of did.

Okay, okay! First of all, it's not like that. I mean, it kind of is! But not really. Listen. Okay. _Listen_. The thing is that I was kinda browsing through twitter – as one would – then I saw someone mentioning the Golden Globes. It was trending, I think? Or the red carpet was about to start? So I go and check it out and it turns out that, hm, well, Derek’s...uh... _thing_ is running for one, as miniseries or movie or whatever. I say “thing” because I'm not exactly what it is supposed to be? A TV movie? A TV show? Something in-between? The shit he is in always has such convoluted descriptions I never know what they are supposed to be. It doesn’t help that I haven’t watched it yet, but at least it seems to have a high rating on google – which, as we know, is all that truly matters.

So I’m thinking, this is kind of a big day for him, right? Golden Globes! Like the Oscars, but for people who can’t get roles in a Marvel movie! So my mind immediately goes to “I should wish him good luck”.

Yeah.

Despite the fact that every aching ounce of me knows it’s a bad idea, I call him anyway. I regret doing it, but I can’t turn off the phone. I’m hoping he has blocked me to spare the pain, but it still goes to voicemail anyway.

“Hi, hm, hi Derek", I said, my voice a little shaky. “I know – I know I’m probably, like, the last person you want to hear from nowadays, but I just...I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I acted before, and for how things ended between us, and I’ve done a lot of soul-searching and realized...you were right. About everything. And – anyway, I'm just calling ‘cos I saw you have the Golden Globes thing and I wanted to wish you luck tonight. And – and in all your future projects. I... I love you, and I wish you the best life, even if I’m not in it.”

Just then, the machine cut me off. I don't know if the entire thing managed to get through. I don’t even know if I wanted to. I don't even know if _anything_ went through. Maybe the phone isn’t even his anymore. Maybe Lydia has it now, and she will delete it as soon as she hears it, sparing me of the embarrassment. Maybe they will both listen to it and laugh at how silly and pathetic I am. Why not? That seems like a thing they would do.

Not really, but I like to think so.

The important thing was that after I sent the message, I felt....liberated. Freed. Maybe that meant it was the last page of the story? Maybe this how it ends?

Turned out – not really. We still had a way to go.

 

* * * * * 

 

“Wait. _How_ have you not watched it?” Scott asked, a little bit more peeved than he had the right to be. “You slept with a guy for a month –”

“Three weeks-ish”, I corrected.

“And you _didn’t_ watch his filmography?”

“I had other things in my mind!”

“And in your mouth, I bet.”

“ _Also_. But I didn't think it was important for me to watch any of his stuff. It wasn’t in my contract!”

“Weren’t you supposed to be an extra in one of his ‘stuff’?”

“Yeah, but you know that didn’t work out.”

“So you decided to never touch anything he was in, then? Seems reasonable.”

This whole debacle had started because I had made the grave mistake of telling him that I had, in fact, not watched Derek’s new...thing that was on the run for a Golden Globe. Somehow that seems to be a capital offense for him, much like Lydia not even considering him for the job I got.

It didn’t make it any better when I told him I didn't even know what the fucking thing was about.

“It’s a miniseries! It says right there!” Scott said, fuming. “It’s about a guy who wakes up one day to find out that an entire year of his memories has disappeared. Everybody around him tells him he was in a coma but he slowly finds out that he did something terrible in this period. It’s like – the best show of the year. Like – like Mr. Robot, if Mr. Robot wasn’t written for pretentious white guys.”

“Hey! I like Mr. Robot!”

“My point exactly.”

I smacked him with a pillow. “It wouldn’t do me any good to watch it anyway. I don’t even know why you want me to watch this red carpet livestream with you.”

“Becaaaaause it's usually Kira who watches it with me so we can make fun of what people are wearing”, he pouted. “Buuuuut she was offered that internship thing, like I told you yesterday, so now she’s got to study for her interview tomorrow. You’re my second best option.”

“Wow, really? _Second best_? Thanks, buddy.”

“You _know_ what I mean.”

“Do I? Do I, really?”

“Shut up.”

Making fun of how all these extremely rich people were dressed but in, like, a not-necessarily mean way was fun. Sometimes they would come and wave to the livestream, sometimes they would stop for interviews, just the basic questions; the girl from Game of Thrones came dressed like she was ready to go to a baby shower to curse a child to sleep for a thousand years, Rooney Mara looked like she grabbed a family-sized mop to wear, Julianne Moore in that blue dress was like one of those sparkly balls we hang on Christmas trees. That kind of stuff.

Some of the guys came, too, but they were all boring! All the dudes dress in the same shades of dark blue-black and the exact same bow ties. It's boring! Ryan Gosling, I think that’s his name, he came in white, but it just made it look like he was gonna start serving drinks and taking orders. Where is the originality? Where is the _pizzazz_?

Secretly, as the crowd came and went, I kept looking to see if He wasn’t among them. Maybe he had already gone in? Maybe he wasn’t gonna come? Maybe he never existed to begin with and it was all a fabricated illusion of my idle mind? Maybe I myself don't even exist, and I’m a little boy strapped to a hospital bed in a coma somewhere, like all of those backstories for classic kid’s shows people come up with.

But, honestly, if that was the case, I really gotta question what kind of life this kid led before he ended up in that bed, because some of the stuff I did with that guy...well, children should not be allowed to read about them until they are 25.

“Oh, there he is!” Scott said, pointing at the screen, as though I could have missed the sight of him walking towards the reporter, a big smile on his face, his beard carefully trimmed. He was wearing a normal tie instead of a bowtie like everybody else, and a pair of those black square glasses that made him look like your high school literature teacher who you wouldn’t mind letting raw you in the school bathroom while whispering Shakespeare in your ear. You know the type.

He stopped by, with his Clark Kent hairstyle, and he and the reporter – I don’t know her name, I just know she looks like she crawled out of the cave where Voldemort’s horcrux had been hidden in like a goddamn blonde Inferi – exchanged amenities. But then she decided to gut him right there on the spot.

“So, we heard rumors...” she started, like a cat purring. “You and Braeden. Is it true? Or just gossip?”

“Just gossip, just gossip”, he said, scratching the back of his head. Good. Good, at least SOMETHING I said to him went through that thick head of his.

“Oh! So you're still in the market, then?”

“Uh, kind of, yes.”

I dug my nails on my knees.

She seemed interested in the answer. “Only kind of? Why is that? Does that heart belong to someone already?”

He hesitated. “...Yeah. Uh, we… we’re not together at the moment – mostly my fault – but...I love him. I love his...styles.”

At that moment, I froze. Completely. Like my brain detached itself from my body, and was now spectating what was happening while I disassociated right there in the couch. I could vaguely hear Scott screaming at my side and feel him shaking me; I saw the bug-eyed expression in the reporter as she repeated “he?” to him, but Derek wasn’t listening – he had not gone into the theater. He had turned around and gone back to way he come from, a known blurry mass of red hair following right on his tracks.

But all of that was behind, like, a thin veil, masked by the cacophony that had exploded in my ears. There was no way – no way in _hell_ – he was talking to me. No way! He couldn't! He hadn’t. He didn’t. I was dreaming, wasn’t I? I was having a LSD trip. Maybe Scott mixed drugs in my soda. Maybe a criminal came into the apartment and shot us both and these are the 5 minutes of delusion I have before I’m declared brain dead.

Anything was more possible than Derek Hale coming out to the entire internet.

“No way! No WAY! NO WAY! Oh my God! This is amazing!” Scott kept saying, shaking me by the shoulders. “Can you believe this? Stiles? Can you believe this?!”

“No! No. No, I can’t. This is bullshit. This is not happening.”

“What? But isn’t this great? Doesn’t this, like, solve your problems and stuff?”

“No! Of course not! Our problems had nothing to do with him being closeted! It was all about his fear of commitment and his traumatic past experiences! I was perfectly fine with him being closeted! It never bothered me at all! You can’t pin this on me!” What was I, a gay character in a YA novel written by a straight person? Jesus. “Oh God. Oh God. What the fuck did he do?”

I was stressing out. Full-on having a panic attack. I don't even remember the last time I had a panic attack. But it’s not good – definitely, definitely, _definitely_ not good. There was so much I needed to digest and process, my mind was going about a thousand miles per second.

God, where is Adderall and/or a bottle being smashed on your head when you truly need it?

Even after all the noise had died down, I still couldn’t properly focus on anything. I didn’t know what to do. Should I call him? Should he call me? Should I call someone? Should I call my mom? Should I wait for him? Why? Was he gonna come, or was he talking about someone else altogether? There was no way to know.

All I knew was that I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think straight – even more so than usual. All I could do was keep relentlessly checking my phone to see no new messages had arrived, and checking the internet to see the reactions of people.

Twitter was having a field day – but after the 4th f-slur and the sight of someone burning their copies of one of his movies, I decided maybe I shouldn’t get so invested.

Like that was gonna do me any good.

It was almost four o'clock in the morning when I heard three shy knocks on my door. There were really only two options of who it could be, and my guess of a ‘very polite murderer’ seemed unlikely – but not impossible.

“Your apartment really is in a shit part of town”, he said, the moment I opened the door.

“Wow. Is this really the first thing you wanna say to me?” I asked, stepping out; the door closing behind me.

“Sorry.”

“You better be.”

For a long moment we stood there, in an emotionally-loud silence, just staring at each other. He looked more handsome than ever, but also barely-slept; or maybe because of it.

“So...” I said, breaking the ice. “I watched the red carpet tonight.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. That was stupid as hell.”

“So Lydia has been telling me for the last couple of hours”, Derek chuckled.

“And how is that working out for you?” I asked, leaning against the door.

“Well, about twenty different people sent me messages saying they ‘knew all along, just didn’t feel like bringing it up’, which I find hard to believe. Lots of others sent me messages telling me I was going to hell, but that was expected”, he shrugged. “ScreenRant posted ’10 Reasons Why Derek Hale Should Be Recast From His Super-Hero Role That Have Nothing To Do With His Sexuality’, and so far three different producers have contacted me with the exact same copy-pasted messages, telling me they love to work with me but due to creative differences they are retracting the roles they offered me before, so that was fun.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

“It’s not _all_ bad. Lydia scheduled at least ten interviews for the next few days, and I got four role proposals – about gay characters. Two biopics, something to do with AIDS, and something else I didn’t have time to check out yet.”

“Fun.”

“Yeah. But I knew it would be like this, one way or another.”

“But you still went through with it anyway. Why?”

He crisped his lips for a moment, thoughtfully. “I...don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to keep living, _like you said_ , another lie for the rest of my life”, he winced.

I blushed. Talk about saying the darnest things. “I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t – I didn’t mean it like that. I meant –”

“I know what you meant”, he said, with a little smile. “But you were right, though. I _was_ living a lie…even if I didn’t want to admit it. I tried to convince myself that I was okay with putting my career above everything else, even if it cost me my personal relationships, even if it meant staying in the closet forever, but… I couldn’t. I couldn’t live like that anymore. Denying myself, denying who I was. It just… it took me a while to figure that out.”

I bit down my tongue. “Guess we all had a long time to think about stuff, huh?”

He stared at me; actually, really stared at me. I could feel a thousand and one things going through his mind as those kaleidoscope eyes of him shone under the dimming lights of the broken lightbulb at the end of the corridor, which the landlord had refused to fix for the last four months. I had so many things to say – to scream – at him, but now that we were face-to-face, my mind had...gone blank.

His, it seemed, not so much.

“So, I…I heard your message.”

Shit. “You did? I thought you had blocked my number.”

“Why would I have blocked your number?”

“I don’t know. Because you were _avoiding_ me? I did kinda run you out of town.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t leave town because of you.”

“Right. That was totally a coincidence, then?”

“No. Peter needed someone to be his sober companion for a while. I volunteered.”

“Oh. So it was only 75% about me.”

He couldn’t control his laugh. “Okay. Fine. It was a _little_ about you. Truth is that… I was…I was scared.”

“Of me? How is that even possible?”

“Not of _you_. I was…I was scared of the truth.”

I arched an eyebrow. “And what _is_ the truth, Derek?”

He swallowed dry. “The truth is that…I love you, Stiles. I love you, Mieczyslaw. I love you in a way I don’t think I have ever loved anyone. I found myself loving you even before I learned to love myself. But I – I buried those feelings, I tried to pretend they weren’t there, I tried to… I tried to convince myself you were just a guy that was getting paid to sleep with me, nothing more, nothing less. I was…almost ashamed of falling in love for another person, knowing how it was meant to turn out. So when you said those words to me, and I knew right there you meant them, I…I freaked out. All those feelings came back and I _freaked out_. I freaked out because I couldn’t actually see anyone loving me – truly, really, really loving me, the way I know you did. You do. And then I did the only thing I knew to do when I’m scared, I ran – from myself, from you, from my feelings. I’m sorry.”

He sighed, his arms dropping heavy at his side. My heart was beating so fast against the back of my throat, I felt my Adam’s apple was about to burst.

“That sounds like a lovely speech”, I said, folding my arms tightly against my chest, so I’d stop my violent urge to throw them around him. “Did you have to rehearse it a lot?”

He seemed caught off-guard. “You – you don’t believe me?”

“I do – I do! But…I also think you think that’s just _it_ , you know? You think you can come here, and you do your little speech, and you open your heart, on the hopes that I had either watched the Golden Globes or heard about it, and I would just…take you into my arms, and pretend nothing ever happened. But that’s not gonna work.”

“I know. I know that.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I don’t think you quite understand”, I said, tightening my jaw. “You _hurt_ me, Derek. You _lied_ to me. To my _face_. You – you _belittled_ me, you tossed me aside like I was a toy you didn’t want anymore. You made me question myself, my feelings; even my sanity.”

“I – I’m sorry.”

“You should be! Very, very sorry!” I said, pointing a finger at his face. “And you can’t expect me to just – to just forgive you. To just brush it aside. Pretend nothing happened. Just because what – because you were _scared_? Don’t you think _I_ was scared? Don’t you think I _am_? My entire world, my entire _life_ was turned upside down because of you, and then you _left_ , and I was prepared to live the rest of my life with the hole you left in my chest. Can you imagine what that would be like? And for you to then, for you to just _come back_ wearing your heart on your sleeve, like this fragile little overgrown puppy, expecting me to just – what? Open my legs to you? And don’t tell me that’s not what you expect! You probably already came here expecting me to drag you into my bedroom so we can have sex or something, but that’s not gonna happen. Especially because I didn’t even prep for sex tonight. I ate taquitos for dinner, for Christ’s sake.”

I huffed and I puffed and I felt the clog in the back of my throat dissolved. It wasn’t all that I wanted to say to him, but it was a start. A good start. Derek looked like a deer caught in the red lights.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow”, I pouted.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like this. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. And I’m sorry for putting you through your bisexual crisis.”

“I wouldn’t be making jokes right now. You’re still on thin ice, mister.”

“Sorry”, he chuckled, but his face fell fast. “Where does that leave us, then?” he asked, a little more serious.

“I don’t know. I… need time. I love you, but I – I can’t forgive you just yet.”

That was bullshit, though – I had already forgiven him the moment I heard him knocking on the door. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him; not after the two mediocre weeks I had because of him and his goddamn scaredy cat ass. That would serve as a lesson for him, so that he wouldn’t wake up one day and think ‘you know what, maybe this is not as fun anymore’ or something.

“That’s okay. I can wait until you’re ready”, he said. “Baby steps.”

“Baby steps”, I repeated. “Maybe we can start over with coffee. See where that takes us – no contracts this time.”

“Sounds good enough to me.”

He stepped in closer to me, and the distance between us suddenly felt endless. The heat from his body as he reached out and touched my face warmed my body, sending chills running up my spine.

God, I missed him so much.

It was like I had suddenly remembered how to breathe again.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“You may”, I answered, eagerly waiting.

He leaned in and kissed me, gently. Reluctantly. Softly. As though it was the first time. That moment, in his arms, I felt as though I was floating in space. It felt right – it felt perfect.

I had no idea what would happen next. Where we would go from here. What waited for me – for him – for us ahead. But I knew that, whatever it was… we would be ready to face it.

_Together_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Wow. I can't believe we actually did it! It's finally over. After well over two years, huh? I'd like to thank all of you who stuck around for the fic to update, through my...very busy life which forced me to delay chapters for a very long time. Your comments really kept me driving to finish it up!
> 
> But I'd like to think that, much like the characters from the show, this is not necessarily an "ending" for Stiles and Derek as much as it is a beginning. I believe there is a lot more for them to deal with in the future yet - I certainly have a lot of ideas! Who knows, maybe a sequel a couple of months from now? ;)
> 
> We never know, right?
> 
> To wrap up the story, an Epilogue - through Derek's point of view. "The 5 times Derek Hale Wanted To Tell Stiles He Loved Him, The One Time He Should Have, And The One Time He Did". Enjoy :D


	26. epilogue.

_**The Five Times Derek Hale Wanted To Tell Stiles He Loved Him,  
The One Time He Should Have, And The One Time He Did.** _

 

 

16 year old Derek put his shirt on as he made his way towards the door. It was a good thing the room was so darkly lit, as he could hide the tears flooding the corner of his eyes better.

At the other corner of the bedroom, in the bed, the man laughed.

“Where are you going at this time?” Argent asked.

“I’m going home. I’m done”, Derek said, cleaning his nose with the back of his hands.

“Are you, now? _Again_? Just ‘cause of _that_? Come on, I thought you loved that shit!”

“No, I don’t! You were hurting me.”

“Come on, you like it that way.

“I don’t! But you still make me do it anyway!”

“Fine, then. Whatever. Come back to bed, we can work this out.”

But he didn’t. Derek stood in front of the door, his fingers shaking as they closed around the knob, fearing the step he was about to take, but still knowing it was the right one to do.

“Are you really gonna leave?” Argent scoffed. “To where? Back to the house where nobody pays attention to you? To the friends that don’t know the _real_ you? To that extra boy who’s been making eyes at you on set? You really think you're gonna find somebody out there who loves you like I do in _him_?”

“I don’t know. But anywhere is better than here”, he said, pulling the door open.

“You always say that, but you always come crawling back.”

“Not this time. Not again.”

“Right. Okay, chump. Then – if you leave now, don’t bother coming back." When Derek moved forward, this time without hesitation, Keith’s voice got a little more high-pitched. “Nobody’s ever gonna love you. Not like _I_ love you. You know that, right? Derek?"

But Derek wasn’t listening. He slammed the door on his way out, trying very hard not to drown on his own tears.

 

* * *

 

Some things you let go easily. Others, much like that time he stuck gum to his sister’s hair that not even all the hot water in the world could make come out – which forced her to get a pixie haircut that didn’t frame her face well at all, and almost cost her the role that would launch her career – stick with you forever.

Argent’s parting words were the latter. They echoed in the back of his head for the years to come, every time he got into a new relationship; and, God, there was a good number of them.

Boyfriends came and went. Some lasted a day; a week or two; a month; some very nearly stayed for a year. Each of them with a different motivation - because they were bored, because they craved the level of intimacy that only a closet puts you through, because they wanted that career boost. One was, he found out later, only using him to try to get to his father, which was a very strange situation to deal with.

Some had said they loved him, or at least “liked him very much”. They all seemed to have found replacements for him even before they had broken up, though.

But Derek...he was fine with that. He had been telling himself he was fine with that for years, now. ‘Some people are meant to be loved, and others just naked’, like that song that would only come out several years later would say.

Despite how much he clung to the idea that it absolutely did not bother him at all, sometimes it...did. A lot. And it only got worse when he saw how much _everybody_ else seemed to be having a good time, gay or straight or everything else in the spectrum. And that made him a little...grumpy.

Okay. Maybe more than a little.

“We need to do something about you”, Lydia – his trusted sidekick and also agent – said.

“What about me?”

“You! You seem like you’ve been sucking on some sour candy for the last couple of weeks.”

“I haven’t been sucking on anything.”

“That is EXACTLY the problem!” she groaned, throwing her head back. “Listen, Derek, I love you. And I love how you insist that you don’t care about relationships. But you need to get your dick sucked.”

“Wow. Blunt much?”

“It’s tough love. And it’s what you need.”

“I told you. I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t – which I’m not saying I’m not – what do you expect me to do? Just go on Grindr on this shithole of a town and find somebody who’s not gonna run straight to TMZ to tell people I like fucking men?"

Lydia arched an eyebrow. If he squinted, he could see the little machines in her brain working non-stop to figure _something_ out. Something he was almost 100% sure he would not like. “Okay. I have an idea. You’re gonna hate it. But it’s an idea.”

“I already hate it.”

“Well, we’re doing it anyway.

“What would ‘it’ be?”

“We’re gonna hire someone to have sex with you. On a regular basis.”

It was a good thing that he was already sitting, because otherwise Derek would have fallen on his ass and probably made a hole on the floor of his trailer. “What?”

“You heard me. We’re gonna hire someone – someone trustworthy – to serve as an...escort of sorts, for you, while we stay in town. This way, you’ll get to have the sexual relief you so very clearly need, and the crew will not have to deal with your moody ass anymore.”

“Okay, Lydia. I get it. I will try to do better, alright?” he sighed, dejectedly. “But let’s not go and get any crazy ideas.”

“It’s not a crazy idea, Derek. Listen. Listen to me”, she cupped his face on her hands. “You need sex. That’s normal. Everybody does! Well, okay, not everybody, but a great number of people do, in different amounts at different times of life! And, like you, those people get frustrated when they go through long periods of time without getting any action.”

“Sure, but I’m not going to – I’m not gonna hire a person to, what, satisfy me? That’s – that’s preposterous.”

“Jesus, you really used the word ‘preposterous’ in a sentence unironically”, she massaged her forehead, trying to keep calm. “This is not gonna be just me picking you some dude on craigslist, Derek. And you can’t keep going through the extras, because you know they think that getting your nut to their stomach is gonna get them to sprout a bigger role for their career.”

“Okay, first of all – I have _never_ had sex with an extra.”

“Call it ‘making love’ for all I care. We need to get you something that is down-low, safe, secure, and that will satisfy all your ass-eating dietary needs.”

He hid his face in his hands. Where in the world was a cyanide pill when he needed one? Anything would be better than having to listen to Lydia say another goddamn word.

“How do you expect this to work, like, at all? I’m assuming you already have somebody in mind?”

“I do, actually. See, some of my classmates from high school are going to college in town, by some crazy random happenstance. I’m gonna talk one of them into helping you out.”

“How are you possibly going to do that?”

She scoffed. “Please. He’s a college student. I could wave a package of noodles in front of him and he would do it - but some round figures would help. Five or six, on a weekly basis. And you get the bonus of popping his cherry.”

“How do you know he’s a virgin?” he did not want to sound intrigued, though he had to admit that last bit caught his interest – even more than knowing Lydia was about to butcher his bank account.

“Oh, ‘cos he’s straight.”

If he had water, he’d have spat all over her. “What? Are you crazy? Now I know this plan is insane.”

“Why? Straight dudes go gay _all the time_. Haven’t you watched Broke Straight Boys?”

He bit down his tongue, considering whether or not he should ruin the fantasy for her. She deserved, but she was also innocent enough to believe that was true, so destroy that? “Life is sadly not a porn movie, Lyd.”

“It is when you guys suck dick in public bathrooms. Now, let me handle this and everything will be fine. I will talk to Stiles tomorrow.”

“His name is Stiles?”

“Stiles Stilinski – and you’re gonna love him.”

She was right, in more ways than she would even realize.

 

* * *

 

The first time Derek Hale wanted to tell Stiles he loved him was the moment it dawned on him what his feelings had become – though that only led him into acting out in a way that was unexpected, especially for someone as tight assed (literally and figuratively) as he was.

He was balls-deep inside of him, Stiles’ legs around his waist; they were staring into each other's eyes, Derek lost into those brown eyes that, even in the poorly-lit room, still looked like the color of a pure glass of whiskey against a warm fire – a fire that ran up and down his spine every time he heard Stiles whimpering a little _oh my God_ , his fingers gripping his hair, his dick throbbing on Derek's fist.

In that moment, Derek realized it. He realized where he wanted to be - forever, in that single moment, with a beautiful boy in his arms calling out his name; no, not a beautiful boy. That beautiful boy. The boy that made him laugh and relax and enjoy himself in a way he hadn’t done in so long, he even forgot he could; that, for the first time, made him feel eager to get home.

“Stiles –” Derek tried to whisper, but his voice had lost itself somewhere in the back of his throat. The moment didn't ask for words, anyway; so, instead, Derek leaned over and kissed him.

That was when he knew he was in too deep. Also both physically and figuratively.

 

* * *

 

The second time Derek wanted to say ‘I love you’ was when he had Stiles curled up in the seat next to him, heeling from a rejection – not from a person, but from his own body, after he had gone on that date with some girl he knew.

He was not taking it well, but that much was expected. Those were the kind of emotions that were hard to deal with, and especially to overcome. Derek himself had dealt with it more times than he’d like to admit; especially when it came to the lovers he’d had to pretend to have interest in, including the one he had left a couple of minutes before.

Yes, he had lied to Stiles – he was still on the date with Braeden when the call came. In fact, he was more than thankful that the call had come, because they had just finished dinner and he knew Braeden was expecting the night to go in a specific direction; one he knew he couldn’t take her. Well, he could...but he only did when there was no other option available. It was like any other acting gig, except he didn’t get paid, or reap any benefits.

Like trying to pretend you’re attracted to Harvey Weinstein, but not as awful.

Not that it mattered at that moment. All he cared about was Stiles’ well-being. He wanted to...he wanted to do more than just try to comfort him. He wanted to touch him and kiss him and tell him everything would be alright, and that...and that he loved him.

But instead he drove forward, through the dark and empty streets of Beacon Hills, his hand seeking out the touch of Stiles’ body as a way to remind Stiles he was still there for him – and vice-versa.

 

* * *

 

The _third_ time Derek wanted to tell Stiles he loved him was in the day right after. They were, once again, on Derek’s car, and – once again - he felt there was a world separating them; but this time, he had no idea why. How could the world have turned upside down between he going to the bathroom and he coming back? Was it because of the movie?

If it was, a part of Derek could not blame him. His little sister was… Well, he didn’t want to admit it, but she was terrible. Very terrible. Yes, he was proud of her for keeping the family business going, but also… you know, there are other careers. Better ones. And Cora was… he was reluctant to call her the equivalent of Kylie to the rest of the Kardashians, because in all honesty, all the Kardashians were terrible. She was, like, the Blake Lively of the Gossip Girl cast; or the Chace Crawford. Or literally anyone that wasn’t Leighton Meester, really.

But whatever – he was just hoping it was another reason. He just couldn’t figure out what.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gone to the restroom; though, if that had been the case, the tragedy would’ve been worse.

He knew. He knew he should’ve gone before they left. He knew, also, that the moment his stomach started grumbling, that he was fucked – but not, sadly, in the way he enjoyed being fucked.

Sure he had tried to wave it off. If any, those semesters at Juilliard should’ve taught him to depersonalize a stomach.

That time in the bathroom of the Teen Choice Awards with Zac Efron should’ve taught him better.

Still, he was proud to hold on until he had, but even he knew there was a limit to how far crossing his legs and staring into the distance could take him.

On the way out of the session room, he wondered if he couldn’t run home really quick and come back before Stiles noticed his absence – or, or maybe there was a drugstore nearby! Or a car could crash through the entrance and pin him to the wall and kill him! Anything other than having to sit on a public toilet, which was roughly the equivalent of visiting the 4th circle of hell.

It’s not an elitist thing! But restrooms are disgusting, and terrible, and awful. Pooping in a public toilet was a scary, borderline traumatic experience. Nobody on Earth liked doing it. Nobody actively left their house hoping to spend any moment of their day sitting in a public toilet.

And doing the deed itself wasn’t the bad part. The worst part was avoiding the witnesses, which usually means going through a deep exercise in concentrating and force of will. Teaching your sphincter not to make loud noises and that sort of thing

Even after all of this, he still couldn’t look up at the other guy there in the urinals. He recognized the fella – he was the one that had almost fucked Stiles with his eyes when they were in line. By his position, he looked like he was cruising.

That just made Derek’s desperate attempt at washing his hands off of his pooping shame much more awkward.

When he, at last, returned to his seat, Stiles was already different. He stayed that way all the trip back. Even asked to be left near his apartment; a stomachache, he claimed, ironically.

As he was about to leave, Derek considered calling out for him, those three words almost rolling out of his tongue.

They got stuck in the back of his throat instead, so he just kept driving again.

 

* * *

 

The fourth time Derek almost told Stiles he loved him, it was with a heavy heart, which caught him by surprise. When he agreed to do the threeway – which sprung from a conversation about Stiles thinking Derek was fucking the guy from the restroom, and the fact that Derek chose not to explain to him that he was just pooping, because rule of relationships state you can’t mention taking a shit to your significant other before 6 months into dating (not that they _were_ dating, obviously. Obviously) – he was actually not expecting Stiles to be into it. He was also maybe secretly...hoping he wouldn’t be into it?

He had played it up as if it would be, and to be quite frank the sight of Stiles getting plowed by two dudes, getting spit-roasted and double-dicked down was a sight that would be engraved in his mind and in his jerk-off sessions until the day of his death; and if he was lucky enough he could still get one last good wank thinking about it before the reaper came for him.

But he also felt...possessive. And maybe a little jealous?

Part of him knew it would be good for Stiles to experiment more with his sexuality, even if in that one specifically odd circumstance, but also he found himself stepping in because he could not bear the thought of another man, any other man, touching him and pleasuring him in the same way he had learned to do so well. It was...disrespectful, almost. Part of him had hoped it would cause the opposite effect, and seeing him moaning in the arms of other men would be enough to break whatever spell Stiles had put over him.

Fuck if it hadn’t just made it worse.

He wanted to tell him, right there and then, as he cupped Stiles’ face in his hands, how much he loved him. How much he wanted him, all for himself. And he did...kinda. Sorta. Not in the way he'd hoped. Not in the way he’d wanted. But he hoped the message was still there.

 

* * *

 

The last time Derek didn’t say ‘I love you’ was when he regretted not doing it the most.

It was exactly after Stiles had said it to him, but instead of letting the words come out as they were meant to, Derek froze. Like the iceberg that drowned Jack because Rose couldn’t move her ass out of the door, Derek sat there, and his entire mind was screaming.

What could he do? What SHOULD he do? Should he say it back? Was it the right time? He wanted to. But could he? What if it didn’t sound sincere? What if Stiles wasn’t sincere? Was he just doing it to get something from him? No. He couldn’t believe that. They had something, right?

But what if they didn’t? What if – what if he was just like the others? How many others had said those exact same words – Pace, Jen, Keith, all the others? They all wanted something from him. They all threw him aside when they got it. Why would this be any different?

A good question. One he didn’t have the answer to.

One he knew that he _wouldn’t_ find the answer to by locking himself in the bathroom until Stiles left; but that was still what he chose to do anyway. He kept forgetting that the worst thing he could do when he was stressed out was be alone, because his mind always ended up going to the worst possible places.

And sometimes these places ended up with him calling Lydia and telling her to void their contract, while also asking her not to stop by because he wanted to be on his own for a while.

But being on his own was never the best thing for him.

 

* * *

 

“You seem… Different”, was the very first thing Peter told him, barely seconds after stepping into his apartment; he had decided to ‘drop by unannounced’, after the people in the rehabilitation center had literally being forced to kick him out due to his constant misbehavior – which, by all accounts, had been a first.

“Good different or bad different?” Derek asked, pulling his eyes away from the phone he had been staring at for the last twenty minutes, hoping that perhaps it would shapeshift into a person like the cover of an Animorphs book.

“Does that ever matter?” He countered, stripping down to his underwear. It was always hard you say if Peter was a nudist or an exhibitionist – but nonetheless he was always hard.

“I guess it doesn’t”, Derek shrugged.

“I sense bitterness in your tone. More than usual, that is, to say”, he said, waltzing his ass into the kitchen.

Derek didn’t answer.

It seemed he didn’t even need to.

“Sometimes silence is all the answers we need.”

Derek raised his eyes when he heard the source of something stirring. “Are you – Peter! Are you _drinking_? You _just_ left rehab!”

“Relax. It’s a dratini.”

“A – what? That’s a pokemon.”

“A dry martini, you fat nerd.”

“Dry martinis still have alcohol in them!”

“This one is made with lemon juice. That’s why it’s a _dratini_. Copyright pending.”

“It’s already copyrighted, you one-balled nutsack.”

“Hey now! We don’t talk about the dog incident! You know I’m sensitive”, he whined, downing the drink in one go and already getting another one ready. Derek couldn’t tell whether the grimaces were for his comments or for the lemon flavor. “Even if you _are_ just trying to change the subject.”

“What subject?”

“The fact you’ve been getting dicked down, silly!” He said, slamming his hands on the table. “Or dicking someone up. I don’t know how you muscle bunny freaks take it.”

Derek sighed. Much like the dog that ripped his left ball when he spread peanut butter on his dick and tried to get it to blow him, Peter was not gonna let that go. “I… had an arrangement with someone.”

“An _arrangement_! Sounds intriguing and exciting”, he said, clapping three times fast like a kid. “Who was it? Who was it? Wait! Was it Chris Evans?”

“No! Why do people always think it’s Chris Evans?”

“I don’t know. Wishful thinking?”

“Do you honestly think if I had an arrangement with Evans, I would not be between his legs at this very second, rather than be having this boring conversation with you? You need to let him go.”

“Never. But also, tell me who the fuck it was then.”

With a deep breathe, Derek put his phone down and focused his attention on him, spilling out the beans. Peter seemed to have gone through the five stages of grief while listening, except ten times over.

By the time he was done, Peter had his face planted on the table.

“Okay, hm. I just have a single question – and, not to sound like one of those disgusting British people you know I hate, but… ARE YOU BLOODY DAFT?!”

“Okay, first of all I have to say your cockney accent is very good and I’m surprised they turned you down for that BBC drama. Second, what the fuck do you mean?”

“Okay. Hm. Derek, my second favorite nephew–”

“Second?”

“Cora smuggled me booze a couple of times. Don’t get hang up on it. Anyway – Derek, what is the first rule we learned since Will & Grace was rightfully cancelled?”

“That the side characters will always be more interesting than the leads?”

“Also, but no.”

“That NBC didn’t think you were gay enough for TV?”

“ _Also_ , but no. It’s that you never, ever, ever let a straight woman – or any woman for that matter – meddle with your romantic OR sexual life!”

“It’s not like –”

“No! Listen. It is. It is exactly like that”, he said, chugging down the rest of his second drink. Or was it the third one? He was fast chugger. “Her heart may have been in the right place, but what she did was wrong, and if I had been here, instead of locked away in that hospice you and that heathen mother of yours threw me in –”

“It was a very expensive rehab, Peter.”

“–Might as well have been a torture chamber! And if I had been here, I would’ve told you right away that this was a stupid idea, and probably to fire her for even suggesting it. And you know why, Derek? Because I _know_ you”, he said, leaning over the counter, squinting at him. “And I know that deep down, behind all these muscles, you are still that same chubby little boy who is desperate to be loved. I would have told you right away that you’d fall in love with this kid for giving you even the slightest bit of attention, and that he would break your heart.”

“He didn’t break my heart”, Derek sighed. “I probably broke his.”

“Good for you, then. You know what would’ve happened otherwise. Or has experience not made you wiser, nephew?” Peter scoffed, a another drink had apparently popped in his hand out of thin fucking air. “Or maybe this...maybe this one would be different. Maybe you would not find _this_ underage twink on his knees with your dad’s dick buried down his throat this time around.”

Derek cringed. “He wasn’t – he wasn’t underage back then.”

He laughed. “Right, if you believed him, like we believed he didn’t have a gag reflex.”

“Wait, you _had sex_ with him?”

“ _Of course_ I had sex with him. Half of Hollywood had sex with him. Or what, did you think he got all these roles because Bryan Singer and Kevin Spacey thought he was really a ‘very good actor’?" he mockingly air-quoted. “Gimme a break.”

“You could’ve at least told me, you jerk.”

“That would've been a fun conversation to have.”

“Not as fun as this one is going!”

Derek got up of his chair. He felt...weird. Restless. He wanted to be angry at Peter for this whole thing – and the implications that came with them, which were...disgusting, all on themselves – but he didn't have the energy to scream at him the way he wanted to.

And God. He wanted to.

But Derek had grown used to never getting the things he wanted, and wanting all the wrong things. Maybe that was his cross to bear. Probably not as bad as, you know, the children starving in Africa or that kind of thing, but still pretty bad.

He snatched the bottle Peter was about to pop on his way to the bedroom, decided to lock himself away for a few...years, maybe. Just then, he heard someone knocking on the door. Peter offered to answer it.

And that was the time Derek _should’ve_ said the three words, but didn’t.

 

* * *

 

“I miss you, Mr. Hale”, Stiles’ voice echoed in the empty dressing room, as Derek replayed the video they had made for, what, the tenth? One hundredth? God-only-knew-how-manyth time. He’d stroke the cell phone gently with his thumb as the Stiles in the video blew him a kiss, before it was cut out.

It felt like a decade since they had recorded that, and yet the memory of it was alive in him, burning so vividly he could not close his eyes without the image of Stiles popping into his head. Haunting him.

Not...actually the memory of Stiles as much as it was the mistakes he had made in his regard. He should never have listened to Peter; even when his uncle had good intentions – situations that were few and far between – he still managed to give him the worst possible advice. Instead of turning Stiles away at his door, he should’ve done the right thing. Should’ve told him the truth.

But he hadn’t. And now he was miserable.

Perhaps he deserved it, being miserable. Perhaps that was, ultimately, what he had deserved all along: to be alone and miserable, with love always a little too far for him to reach. To sabotage himself whenever any good thing was headed his way.

That was the curse of the Hale family; not as fun as, say, lycanthropy, but much more relatable.

He had tried his best to ignore the malicious comments made by Peter about Stiles; he knew Stilinski was a good, honorable guy, who’d never do anything to cause him any harm. He wouldn’t...he would never be like the other guys.

But, then, Derek would never be like any other guy, either. Their relationship would always be kept in secret; it was fine while they were in that little town in the middle of nowheresville, but what if they had gone back to L.A. like he wanted? They would have to watch their every move, be extra careful in everything they did; one slip could be fatal. That is not even to mention if the studio ever asked for another PR relationship...

That was not the kind of thing someone deserved to go through in a relationship. It wasn’t what he had signed up for. It was never what they signed up for.

It was better this way, then. Not for him, of course, but still...

He sighed, fixing up his tie and putting his phone back in his pocket. In a couple of minutes his car would arrive at the Beverly Hilton and he needed to look cheerful for all the half-thousand cameras waiting for him. Lydia would be there, but running a little late; no explanation was given, but he was expecting her to materialize at his side on a puff of smoke and brimstone at any given moment.

Just then, however, his phone rang. The name on the screen almost made his heart stop.

He considered picking it up. He considered NOT picking it up. He considered whether or not he SHOULD pick it up. By the time he was done considering, the message had already gone to voicemail.

“Hi, hm, hi Derek”, his voice said, and Derek almost melted. Was it shaking, though? What was going on in his end? “I know – I know I’m probably, like, the last person you want to hear from nowadays, but I just...I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I acted before, and for how things ended between us, and I’ve done a lot of soul-searching and realized...you were right. About everything. And – anyway, I'm just calling ‘cos I saw you have the Golden Globes thing and I wanted to wish you luck tonight. And – and in all your future projects. I... I love you, and I wish you the best life, even if I'm not in it.”

For a man of Derek’s size to cry would be unflattering, so we’ll say he just shed one Very Mainly Tear(tm) as he clutched his phone in his hands, desperate to hold on to that voice – that feeling – as Stiles slowly faded away.

In that moment, Keith Argent’s words echoed in his ears; “nobody’s ever gonna love you”, he had said.

In that moment, Derek Hale knew these words were the farthest thing from the truth.

He knew there was love for him; true, pure, unconditional love. He knew, also, that he had gone his whole life looking at life through the wrong lenses: it turned out that you didn’t need to learn to love yourself first before someone learned to love you. Those, it seemed, were not co-dependent conditions.

He got himself together just in time for the driver to tell him they were coming up Wilshire boulevard. Time to put on a smile for the cameras, wave and wink, try not to look uncomfortable on a suit that cost more than what a salaryman made in a year, while secretly wishing he was anywhere else in the world at that very moment.

Derek had already decided that, as soon as the ceremony was over, he would call Stiles. Maybe drop by Beacon Hills. Say he was sorry. Try to work things out with him. Try to...be happy, as opposed to just distracted from sadness. He was always happy with Stiles.

His plans would have almost worked, had he not spotted Giuliana Rancic half-way through the red carpet. He had barely been caught in her camera when she asked him the infamous question.

And the rest...well, the rest is history.


End file.
